WandeRoseD

We are food unto one another.
As much as the apple,
as much a spring water;
we offer nourishment to loves and friends;
to the stranger for whom we hold open the door
and invite to partake of our fare.
Words, like sauce, drip sweet and savory –
acid and bitter into the hungry before us.
What do we feed?
What nourishment do we offer?
Are we lush in sun drenched green-
or poison with withering chartreuse?
And when we are harvested,
will the bellies remember a feast
or recall a deep well of famine?