Hungry Dreams

source Rolf Hicker PNG

1.
We gather round the table
to eat our rice and beans
while, in their caves, the wild brown bears
dream their hungry dreams.

The salmon all did not come home.
There's naught for bears and whales
and, all this winter, I am sure
we'll hear their hungry wails.

Some eat too much; others have none,
depending where you live.
But there's enough for every child
if richer countries give.

Mother Nature shakes her head,
sending typhoons and gales.
When will humans ever learn
survival's not for sale?

           *****

2.
My mother cooked everything
on the same black skillet for years.
It grew crusty, greasy and lumpy,
but in that pan she cooked up wonders:
French toast for my sister and me,
sometimes a steak for my father.
Bits of black sometimes
would be among the eggs;
we picked them out.

I remember that frypan
in the small hovel where we lived
the summer my father died:
food cooked on the oilstove
which was also our source of heat,
the silent meals around the table,
never being allowed
to speak the unspeakable,
the fights and beatings
that went on at night,
as I lay shivering in bed,
dreaming of peace.

I remember my mother, that summer,
never smiling, and then, her heartbreak
after my father died.
She took his fedora, clutched it to her chest,
and walked up and down the creek,
wailing.
She loved him.

Now I live alone in small rooms,
eating my rice and beans
in a peace that wraps around me,
like a cloak of Enough,
colouring all my memories
with gratitude and love
for the journey made.



For Susan's prompt at Midweek Motiff: The Food We Eat

The hungry bears are on my mind, as they enter winter without any fat on their bodies. And that black skillet brought back memories, too.