Lucky 13…
We the Mourners
We the mourners
preserve the tip of the tongue
it is getting lonely, discarded
in the speed of need-to-know
no, no – the tip of the tongue
is the holder of creativity’s
cauldron, the altar of imagination’s
fierce fortress. Intelligence is
the tastebud of transcendence
– why flounder it
to artificial accoutrements?
we heed the healing force
genuine in our care for the
tongue’s mighty roar
We the mourners
eat grief for every meal
spice it with saffron & sage
agrimony & quassia
sauce it over pasta
spread it on warm bread
there is enough grief
to feed trillions and trillions
need to eat. Grief is thick
tender sassy sticky ripe
sweet nasty juicy rich
like hand-churned butter
batter-beautiful and bold
we overeat and bloat
blissfully for your griefdom
to continually thrive
VANESSA SHIELDS 