The Feast
This is a poem I wrote "way back" when I was young and restless, in love and yearning for something. It's over 20 years old. I am different now, but the yearning still remains.
The Feast
I have prepared a feast for you
a liturgy,
Hurry
I have carved fresh apples to the core
Salted, baked, kneaded, plucked
fresh fruit from a ripe vine
honey, stolen recklessly from the honey bee
Dripping and sweet
The roast is plump, ready, rich-full
of its own juices
I bathed
My hair is cut, styled, curled
a satin dress clings, curves around my hip
I reach down,
dropping perfume
on the bone of my ankle
and the small of my back
The candles, blessed and scented
burn hot
a drop of red wine rests on my lip
and I wait
wait
wait
We feast, tumble, play
like new born kittens
eyes closed
warm, wet
our instincts
make us thirsty for comfort
sucking everything from each other
learning how to love
- by Diane Currie
May 3, 1997
© Diane Currie Sam
