jane zwart

"ANYTHING HELPS"

Everything I have called hunger
has really been appetite. All my need

has been need with serged edges; need
of something; need inside the picky, lucky

subset of Anything. I have known grief
but never the grief that scrapes

the taste buds from one’s tongue.
I have never written those who offer

casseroles the sentence I’m not fussy,
and I have asked for help but never

without minding, a little, how the shirts
are folded, where the platters are put away.

Really, what do I know of want, never
having been shrived of wanting?