Provision

Chris Ellery

June 5, 2022

Of all in this realm of particles and force

nothing is mine.

Not the beans or bread on my plate.

Not the tea in my glass. 

Not “my” plate or “my” glass.

Not the woman who cooks and bakes and sets the table.

Not the song that she sings as she lights a candle.

Consider the bowl of the body.

The blood, made in the bones, enters and leaves the heart

like a modest allowance.

Can I own a single cell?

Can I save a breath for a rainy day?

Can I earn interest on a swallow?

As we sit together, the woman and I, light spreads over the table

and over our faces.

But the light and the flame are no more mine

than they are the candle’s. 

The hand that butters the bread is not mine.

The teeth that chew are not mine.

The tongue that tastes is not mine.

The stomach is not mine.

Neither is any thought mine nor the will to love.

Still, holding her hand and mumbling in the mystery, 

I offer thanks (thanks that is not mine)

to the nothing whose we are

for the bounteous marrow of this poverty.

Chris Ellery is author of five poetry collections, including The Big Mosque of Mercy, Elder Tree, and, most recently, Canticles of the Body. A member of the Texas Institute of Letters, he has received the X.J. Kennedy Award for Creative Nonfiction, the Dora and Alexander Raynes Prize for Poetry, the Betsy Colquitt Award, and the Texas Poetry Award.