Friday, March 24, 2006

Any moment, preparing this meal,
we could be gas thirty thousand
feet in the air soon
to fall out poisonous on leaf,
frond and fur. Everything
in sight would cease.

And still we cook,
putting a thousand cherished
dreams on a table, to nourish
and reassure those close and dear.

In this act of cooking, I bid farewell.
Always I insisted you alone were to blame.
This last instance my eyes open
and I regard you with all
the tenderness and forgiveness
I withheld for so long.

With no future
we have nothing to fight about."
~Edward Espe Brown

I got this poem from here. If only I was capable of such glorious poetry.

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