We don’t always show the raw ingredients of our present emotions.
Some need time to cook
To be tried and tested before any talk of change.
Not all of us are simply a list of needs and wishes,
like you, with 1, 2, 3, 4 steps
to the plate.
I envy your readiness,
your utter consumability.
I do not question your nutritious value. Your contents are clear.
You want to be involved, to be used, to see the inside of desire
and wonder at it.
I could make you from scratch with your notations. I could have you again and again,
if I wanted.
But I have never followed a recipe.
I have never followed a thing but my own flesh and blood feet, heel down and eyes searching.
How could you expect a woman like me to rest for a meal that was made to be repeated?
How could I keep the secret?
I wanted a second helping.
For fear! I could disappear without a trace over urges like that.
I am a memorized dish, never written or measured,
whose main ingredient is time
that which expands up
and out from the earth,
but does not grow on vine or stalk.