What did your kids eat today?

Well, let’s see…

organic honey on pita bread…

How do you know it was organic?

It said so right on the glass,

not plastic, bottle.

How do they know if the honey is organic or not?

Do they interview or breathalyze each bee

returning home?

Do they ask each bee each time

whom the bee has been with?

In that intimate kinda way,

playing in whose pollen, exactly?

Did the bee stay within her orthodox organic certified playground,

or did she wander off the farm

and free range right into your toxic neighbor’s

chemically condomed hydrangea,

or maybe that always too enticing hibiscus,

flaunting her ample skanky wares?

Well, I don’t know,

I just took the bottles’ word.

I wouldn’t begin to know

how to address your immunity issues,

about breathalyzing slutty bees

addicted to poison.

 

OK, so what else did you feed on today?

Well, I told my kids I love them,

and we practiced variations on that theme,

absorbing rich nutrient strings of rhythmic compost.

I used my please and thank-yous

and you’re welcome, and namaste.

I wished them peace

before their baths

and before turning out their light

so they could see stars and moon

slivering through dark embracing womb.

Our neighbors provided bird song,

especially those mourning doves

calling out resonate alto fractal coo,

rhythm and courtship dance.

I fed them massaging back rubs

and hugs

and shoulder squeezes,

gentle taps on knees and elbows.

I stroked their drifting drowsy heads

from frontal lobe toward brain stem,

and back again, again.

My fingers rubbed between each totem

in their forceful flowing spines.

I fed them sad and silly songs

and mindful ho-ke-po-ke,

values in and yuckies out.

We fed each other stories of love and romance,

sadness and despair,

fear and anger,

passion and grace,

all stories synergetically satisfying.

 

We are what we absorb, both before and after all.