No, really —
Who am I to write about hunger?
— I who have never been more than eight hours
without access to food?
Who am I to write about hunger?
— I who have always had time to search
for my soul’s fulfillment?
I can only say
There is a kind of hunger
that doesn’t go away
from having my belly full
There is a kind
that grows in strength the more I feed it
And there’s a kind of satisfaction
that flies along at the exact place of its hunger
Soars in comfort
Meeting the edge before it cuts
Carving its curve again and again
like a cresting wave
Drawing a fine calligraphic line
across the page of days
Filling up my heart until it bursts
Warbling praise.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 16, 2012
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