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Everything is so delicious
by Melissa Studdard

Sometimes
I feel so hungry, so thirsty,
I don't want to die.
This desire to butter and eat the stars.
This desire to pack the sunset in my bag
and run home with her, to make
a terrarium for the moon.
You see, a pirouette
once courted a flying leap.
Rim of day
married the indispensability of night,
and from these, my parents
were born, half-human, half-dream,
unafraid of madness, desperation, delight,
weavers of magic,
gifted with the ability
to bend and reshape
time. That's why
if I climb a tree I can find
the top of myself.
If I dig up the garden,
galaxies start seeding there.
Look at this bloom of world,
this unfurling universe
drifting to rest on my tongue.
Even the mud is prime
for making pies‐and the chopped up
meaty bits of sky, and the salted ocean.
And the life in me‐
the life in me so piquant and sweet‐
from the ether
and I'm never letting go.

 

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