If I Am What I Ate



If I am what I ate,
I am Spaghettios
and Swanson TV dinners.
I’m grilled cheese on Wonder Bread
and my mother’s Mexican Goulash,
which is neither Mexican
nor goulash.


If the voices in my head
belong to my parents,
then it’s they who told me to lay low,
toe the line, follow the rules,
and do unto others, as others
are more important than I.


It wasn’t God.
It wasn’t Jesus,
not the Pope nor Billy Graham.
It wasn’t the sacred texts or hymnals,
or the sages who interpreted them
who told me to be someone else.


God is God, and He’s made me a lovely dinner.
I dine on the Feast and become myself.


With my tongue I taste.
With my eyes I see.
With my ears I hear.
It’s my blood surging.
It’s my heart that sings in the dark.