She was barely two
when she fell over the first
time in her crib, stiffening
into a seizure, rousing
fifteen hours later
from such a deep sleep
we kept anxious vigil,
noting the lack of tone
in her limbs—
We crowded around her
when she sat up in
the hospital bed:
wonder of the child
now speaking in complete
sentences, whereas before
she had just begun
forming words.
And she asked not only
for something to eat,
but specifically
for not just food—
Meaning she craved,
somehow, a taste
she had not yet met.
More than fifty
years after, I still think
about that moment every now
and then, when I myself
hunger for something I can’t
place a finger on: for something
I want so badly, only I’ve been
asleep or away too long.
In response to Via Negativa: Fetish.