Homes Have A Little Store Room

Somehow, I always find myself sending “energy” to someone - wishes, love, peace, health, prayers or some such thing. I’m remembering what that means. And I know where it lives in me.

For Karen who began it and Raina who made it get written.

if I close my eyes. reach deep.
dive. dive.
burrow. root inside
myself. excavate or scurry
trip fall. There is

a store room holding
all of the positive energy
people send me.  
Love, Health. Prosperity.

Peace. if I manage

to get there. I see - wax
sealed green wine bottles, plastic
crumpled litres, hand blown glass
wrapped in knotted golden filigree
mason jars of all styles, designs and lid fittings
from the silver flip snap to the orange rubberised
jam seal. filled
to the brim with jewel coloured liquids.  
precious like Patricia’s crab apple jam -

labelled acquired at high cost, use sparingly.” (1)

and when deep need drives me,
I choose one, open it. drain
savour or suck the fortifying elixir. I've just found
my storeroom again.  I’m laying
like a drunk on the rocky dirt floor.
it seems to be most
of what sustains me. these days.

(1) Johnson, Patricia, Stain My Days Blue , Ausdoh Press, 1999, “Bitter White Apples,” page 39