Last week a mathematician said green glow, aquamarine— and I suppose rare parrots or the searing rise of rice, aurora as it reels around the poles.
This week the man says oops, a miscalculation: the universe is amber— peach hair, cantaloupe, a squeal, the yellow cart of dawn pulled into day.
Show me the math, show me equations in green, gold, vermilion, plum— whatever comes out of the dark around us and the sun and all the sons and daughters of the stars— the universe a crystal, charmed, worn in the hollow of God’s throat and warmed.
Good lost word, succor. As an infant mouth pulls sweet need from the breast. Sucker: that child, or a loser. Or a gull— someone fooled. Gull’s a sea grace too, a diving shelter wing. Sucker: sweet on a stick. Sticky.
Dive and warm me, sweet Grace. Feed me, help me. Don’t fool me, don’t lose me. Be my succor. Stick to me.
Open thy mouth wide, and I will fill it. Psalm 81:10 (KJV)
Don’t be afraid of your hunger. I gave it for your fullness, The cravings, the pinched gullet, the corrosive wants, all have come to serve you. Don’t be afraid of the pablum, the drivel in your diet, or the sharp cactus burrs when you swallow. Don’t be afraid even if you don’t know you are hungry.