the day you spooned and placed all this life within me,
and fed me the spirit to never falter
though i lay crooked at this table.
a spirit and a promise to keep
it going and know there’s soul
where the warmth, the food of your faith lands as it hits my soul.
that i may not always be right-
might be too spicy-
doing too much,
too much on the palate.
that buds abloom and taste to enjoyment is
relative like the realisation-
is all we have to make the base
of the selves- the us we place at the table.