Then the priest shall turn these into smoke
on the altar as a food offering by fire
for a pleasing odor.
All fat is the Lord’s.
God, is the fat and my love of the fat.
Here is my chocolate.
Here is my too much party (here, look!),
my I want to have fun,
my this one’s for me.
Here is my hunger and my greed.
And here is a little toast to you,
in passing recollection that all this is yours.
(And by the way thank you for all of this.)
Here is my self as the center of the world,
my entitlement as assumed normal,
my appetite as Universal Constant.
Here is my want, my therefore I must need,
and, yes, here is my not what you want.
Here it is. See it? Watch it in action
as I feast, as I have at it.
Take it, all of it. I’m piling it up here for you.
Have it, hold it, and climb into it
the way you do.
In forty days you can give it back to me,
changed, fixed on a different abundance,
and finally really alive.
—February 13, 2018