Banquets to Come

Banquets to Come

(“But the bread that comes down from heaven is such that a person may eat it and not die.” John 6:50)

Do not feed me diamonds, I will not eat them,
Do not serve me golden, I cannot taste it.
They have no fragrance, no foretaste of banquets to come.

I will dine on sunrise and drink its reflection from
the silent river still as autumn. I will drink the conversations
poured from yesterday’s thermos, the chill pinching my cheeks
with the hope of no more goodbyes.

I am a starving wanderer with an appetite wider than
the prisms refract. I hunger, on lazy mornings like these,
for the kitchen where momma baked

The French rolls from a secret recipe; butter, cinnamon,
sugar and cream, cornbread gold and
topped with molasses’ coffee crunch.. The damp air
from the crack in my bedroom window
met up with the aroma from the Jenn-air oven. Dad was there first

and never a single one leftover if anyone

slept in.