This could be the last, best taste of earth
we are allowed, letting go all richer dreams—
filet mignon, chocolate torte—for this
thin but fragrant broth, bright roots pulled
from the ground’s clutch by another’s hand.
This wisdom we eat:
the freeze coming over the fields, they
were scrubbed in a cold shed, all caked soil
rinsed off, then stored for a later, hungry season.
You have to understand it was January with me
for a long time, faced in two directions, frozen
and silent as snow drifted the woods.
Now faith is a paring knife fast in my hand, the low
blue gas flame of the stove. As hungry
oh they must be for what we only can provide,
how can the gods taste a soup like this?
How lonely I was.
Then that, too, became a gift.
Sarah Sadie blogs the intersections of theology and poetry at Sermons from the Mound, on the pagan channel at patheos.com. An editor (www.versewisconsin.org) as well as writer, her poems appear in places such as Midwestern Gothic, Literary Bohemian and Literary Mama, to name a few. Her poetry has received the Wisconsin Fellowship Of Poets’ Chapbook Prize, the Council for Wisconsin Writers’ Lorine Niedecker and Posner Prizes, and a Pushcart Prize. Her first full-length collection, Somewhere Piano, was published in 2012 by Mayapple Press, and she has two chapbooks: Quiver (2009, Red Dragonfly Press) and Given These Magics, (2010, Finishing Line Press). She is currently one of two Poets Laureate (2012-2016) of Madison, where she lives with her husband and two children. Her life consists mostly of kids, gods and poems, not necessarily in that order.