Still Hungry

Still like The Blue Lagoon in Port Antonio, Jamaica

I am still recovering from the turkey binge. I feel heavy as it’s a busy time, the specter of  spent money looming overhead. It’s that time—the closing of the year draws closer. It is the end of things that never began and the beginning of things that never ended. I’m busting at the seams, the guilt of still wanting more and more when there are so many who have nothing. I go through my fridge, foil-wrapped throw-aways staring back at me—the turkey leg, the Basmati rice from four weeks ago, the funky cheese I forgot about and the three year old kremas (an amazing Haitian drink). Yet, I complain about having nothing to eat, my inner-spoiled brat sadistically unquenchable. I drive down North Miami Beach Boulevard, sad faces draping the day with cardboard signs like, “I have cancer, and I have no food” or “Laid-off and Hungry.” Sometimes, I give. Other times, I look away, annoyed, still caught up in my own hunger for quietness, stillness and maybe, more cookies.