MOST THINGS IN LIFE ARE BETTER SHARED.
(or, a postscript for one hundred.)
Hopefully these poems have been things that, once digested, sat in your gullet, stewed in your juices, arranged themselves in the corridors of your bowels and found homes against the thump of your arteries, drawing sustenance from the act of being remembered on occasion, growing heavy and full on the devoured, borrowed nutrients of your thoughts. Did they form benign lumps just beneath the skin, below a ribcage, the distended belly of being carried around in the back of your mind? Are they fat on having stayed with you? Did they cause a fever in the darkness, making you twist and turn, unsure of what it was that clung to the back of your teeth and eroded the enamel of a good night's sleep?
The plate is empty, for now. I've been fortunate to share the company of this meal with a few wonderful dinner companions: @booksnips for the tap of fork to glass, calling toast; @ideflex for the hands in the kitchen, whipping up deserts; @cgwarex for the kick of feet below the tablecloth, pushing for the next course; @annemio for the endless refill of coffee and gentle cheer at the end of the meal. And so many other guests - @snippes, @mahalomarlin, @ellowrites, and @ellopoetry, and so many other loves, reposts, and thoughtful remarks - who've sat with me through these #100DaysofAberrance, these abnormalities in the rhythm and pace of things.
Soon I'll rise from letting the plates cool, clear the dishes, and start the work again; but for now, but for the moment, to lean back, look around, and raise a glass to all of you.
Thanks for reading.