clear in our needShe never questioned her hankering for oranges, never
wondered why something in her palate or the deeper request
of her belly insisted on that handful of tart-sweet wedges. The body is clever,
hearing so precisely its own call we don't stop to contemplate, What is this thirst?
No, we make a beeline for the fridge, find fruit, slice it open. And yet,
this long pause before the other longings, as if these were any more
complex, as if the wild heart of our hunger couldn't possibly be met.
Isn't it enough to be clear in our need? What else is there to know before
we reach our hand in? What better invitation than the cells stirring from their bed,
shrugging from an old slumber, wanting, simply, to be fed?