To Flavor the Soup - Sashana Kane Proctor

[Larry Robinson]

To Flavor the Soup

The storyteller died.
I wanted that never to happen
	longed for him to forever pen his tales
	across the heavens
	so we would remember who we were
	in all our kaleidoscopic realness and colossal beauty.

But he died
	and his particular spice—say it’s carrot--
	will never again flavor the soup of life we are.
No more carrot.
There’s no substitute. 

His death told me today
I have to save my spark.  
Otherwise I am wasting my life,
	a life closer to death 
than I want to think.

I have to fight for myself.
So I will tie shiny things 
	to the limbs of my inner being
	to attract the curious wildling 
	so she will return
	and reflect the rainbows
	to wash the sky with our fullness.

I will begin to feather 
	a basket with truth, longing and terror, wonder and despair,
nature’s tears, ours, words that want paper
And I will help them
	find a home
	a place to be read.

What is left of me,
the memory of my strength,
Will carry my brokenness 
	to the door of help
Where I’ll face down the voice that says no
And cry, “I’m so cold.  Please let me in.”

I will open the eyes 
	behind my not knowing
To recognize the woman of light, 
	who suspended with me 
	between life and death,	
crossed over without a sign
And I will ask her,
	my heart the gift I offer,
To please come back
So where we walk together
	we make footprints
	that release our spice 
	into the soup of the world
	once again.
	
	- Sashana Kane Proctor

      (In tribute to Gerald Haslam for his spice and verve.)
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