Vanquishing a Void

There is a hunger in me 

that is never feels full.

It’s voracious teeth bite at my heart

several times a day.

I give it oranges, pastries and pasta,

but still it wants more.

 

When I was a kid

my folks said I had a hollow leg

now those legs have grown roots.

Forging a hollow hill below my feet

that lets cold seep in along with the hunger.

I put a hat on my head to keep the heat inside

wind scarves about my neck, my shoulders

pull on tall wooly socks, just to get warm.

 

It takes a pot of magic soup

conjured with whatever is at hand

leek, potato, turnip or swede

onion, carrot, ginger and bone

boiling and bubbling in a caldron

atop the open flame.

Stirred and salted with a kiss or a prayer

served in bowls of deep blue.

 

The love sipped from the spoon

will trickle down to fill the cracks 

in the cavern and puddle across the floor.

Priming a pump like a volcano ready 

to burst the walls with sunlight.

 

But when there is no time to spell a soup

just let a puppy lead you by its leash

until you are both weary and spent. 

Sit down on something soft 

then let that little dog

lick all the emptiness away.