truth about hunger

let me read it to you…

the truth is

the backyard ash shivers in the dark

and every night hungers for morning sun

the truth is

babies are born craving lullabies

the baritone drum of a father’s voice

and mama’s cool hand across the forehead

the truth is

gypsy moths will sing for a flickering light

ink starves for the next word

red birds plead for communion on a high wire

and an ancient copper pot hanging overhead

longs to be laid across the fire

the truth is

stars ache for gazing

the corner of the page wants to be turned down

a carousel begs you to go around one more time

and the swing on the front porch

holds arms wide open to receive you