by Marcus Colasurdo
Is most often, enough. A set of shelves, semi-stocked: pasta tuna soup rice corn beans- or that throbbing white electric giant, a magnetized miracle in itself, an arctic high rectangle protecting milk and butter, cheese and eggs, fierce lawyer of leftovers. A small abundance is enough; For I have had long hungry nights, childhood belly growls when the larder sighed its empty apologies and the freezer opened unto a vacant boneyard. So know that if I am asked to sacrifice, I share If I am tasked to fast, I feast. If I am pushed toward less, I begin to grow. Let us be clear: abundance is the song of the earth- and just a few notes of that music is all I need, most often.