by Naomi Pattison-Williams
Morning swells like a leaven
as I follow my hunger
in search of a word, a phrase, that twist
of singing flame until
the last traces of night dissolve and
I hear come, have breakfast.
I tear myself away from the search,
turn to face the small fire
over which soft bread warms and fish
sputters as its body yields to flame.
Take this longing from my tongue
begs Leonard Cohen, even as
I want to ask
if he means it.
The fish tastes like charcoal and salt, leaves
a film of oil around my lips. Hours later, I find
a hint of honeycomb
lingering
on my tongue.
Naomi is grateful to live at asiniskaw sipisis, Treaty 6 territory in rural Alberta, raising two little boys and writing about life as it happens. Having written a poetry chapbook as part of her MA in Theology and the Arts at Regent College, her poetry has also appeared in CRUX Journal, Ekstasis, and Fathom Magazine.