I’m getting a late start to the NaPoWriMo prompts. You could say I’ve been bit distracted of late, you know, what with going through a messy divorce and my husband finally deciding to leave the house and everything. But, better late than never as they say. Today’s prompt is to write a list poem with names we’ve made up. Some examples given were band names, romance novel titles, and ideas for TV cop dramas. I’m going to try out names for unnameable mixtures of emotions that I’ve had to eat and eat and eat because that’s been my reality for nine months. Also, that I haven’t been able to eat much real food for months and that my weight has plummeted makes the food theme even more apropos…
What’s On the Menu
Guilt shame pain blame regret soup with caramelized judgment
Saving self saving grace saving kids special sauce
Resistance depression darkness divorcee’s doubt pudding
Extramarital affair discovery baked with ragey cagey compote
Humor relief lightness super crunchy trail mix
Wanting more wanting out always wanting fizzy punch
Revelation with a twist of salvation salad accompanied by a side of tangy WTF?
Blanket idealism ice cream and
unapologetically innocent optimism pie for dessert
Self-help book junkie dharma debt digestif—scorches and soothes simultaneously
and for the heartburn…
Rollercoaster searching spicy spiral spiritual medicine
in the form of pleasure pills, tranquility tea, and intuition injections.
Baby we ain’t got no brakes,
so buckle up and tie your napkin around your neck.
I love food.
I love its colors and textures
and its smells.
I love preparing it,
watching ingredients transform
into something amazing
right before my eyes.
I love sitting down to a good meal
and savoring every bite.
I don’t manage to nourish myself
as much as I should.
Sometimes food is an afterthought,
and it takes becoming crazed
to realize that I’ve gone too long between meals.
I recently learned
that nice people become monsters
when their blood glucose levels dip
because of hunger.
Wanting to be kind to those I love
is motivation enough
to be more vigilant
about eating as much as my body needs me to.
I want someone to just make me the food,
bring me the food,
and clean up afterwards.
I love food.
But it sure is a lot of work.
Beginning in the morning
with a little quiche
I threw together for breakfast,
and flowing into the afternoon
in which I creatively mixed some leftovers
to make a somewhat edible lunch
and then flying into the evening
with not one but TWO meals–
one for tonight
and one for tomorrow’s dinner–
I spent this day
thinking about how I nourish others,
and not just theoretically,
but truly, actually,
how I nurture others
with the food I spend so much time preparing.
And now, at night,
so tired that I can barely sit up straight,
so tired that I can barely stay awake
for my evening sit,
How much is too much?
When does the act of nourishing someone else
become a simultaneous act
And is there a way to strike a balance?
The question I’m always asking:
How do I get my own needs met,
when my focus is on meeting the needs of others?
I’m too tired to take a shower,
but that’s okay,
because it’s winter,
and there really isn’t any dirt or sweat
except for the dirt in my own mind,
and the sweat of the one inside me
who was racing even though
she knew there will never be a finish line.
Going to bed now.