Sterno

My heart has the capacity to heat
a cold breast peppered and lightly dressed with
lemon or some other favorite mess.
The words don’t come as easily as
eating. I’m often regurgitating
like a mother bird, closing my eyes and
turning away, never knowing if my
baby is swallowing all I have to
say. Where did this nest metaphor come from?
I thought I was talking about feeding
the masses at barbecues, communion
parties, corporate soirees, metal trays
holding my thoughts, keeping them warm over
a thin layer of near-boiling water.

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