the fridge, my sun

And so, the church barely remembered my name

Though I was only gone a few weeks or so.

Perhaps I should have made grander entrances.

So that I may be remembered for my flair,

If my name is meant to be unknown. 

To be loved is to be remembered,

So tragic was my easy transition to oblivion.

Ah, well,

What does it matter?

Though I ruminated all the way home,

When I reached my apartment --- all empty, dark, and cold,

I opened my fridge and sat in the light,

The fridge, my sun,

Kinder as to cool the unforgiving heat,

Finding refuge from the awful summer night.

Was it my disposition?

Should I have ignored the spiritual call?

But the sun reminds me that I do exist, 

And I did not have to worry after all.

Rays blocked by shelves filled with loved things;

Meat that my mother brought from home.

Among the loveliest, 3 pairs of peaches,

Rolling out the bottom shelves to break my fall.