Soul Food

I’s can see separation of colour and light
shapes which articulate
encapsulated personas

jam jars of Life force
with lids screwed on
too tight.

It takes some effort
to wiggle them loose.

A worthy aspiration
as the sweet tang of disclosure
wets my appetite for
exotic other.

You pass me a tattered book
filled with your favourite recipes
hesitant
for our palettes may differ,

but I am eager for our I’s
to read between the lines
and stir up some toothsome Truths
we may have forgotten we need
to sustain ourselves.

Delivered on a silver spoon,
feed me with your I’s.

Divulging identifiers
we shall see them crumble like a soft
powdered sugar
atop our just desserts.

Swollen bellies
slowly digesting,
I’s begin to adjust to the light
and it is evident

our mouths feed
the same hunger.

Marinated in memories
miseries minced fine for flavour
adversities beaten
until smooth and light

a menagerie of experience
creates an overall flavour
of sweetness.

A feast
I could not concoct on my own
without fresh I’s
to reinterpret the recipe.

Always searching
for new ingredients
new kitchens
new chefs

together we endeavor
to feed the masses

by opening
as many jammed jars
as we can.