Sometimes my stomach talks to me.
Quite clearly.

She asks for veggies some days,
greasy fries on others.
She’s usually pretty aggressive,
but asks as politely as she knows how.

She says other things though.
She requests things that aren’t food
or a sip of cool water.

She asks for you.
She senses your absence.
A hunger pain that can’t be satiated
by veggies or fries.
It’s only vanquished
with my soft cries.

You think she’d want something in,
but no.
She wants my tears out,
to empty, to flow.
And just like me,
she misses you so.

When my hunger turns to pain,
my cravings must turn to rain.
Can’t put things in to quiet her cry,
like liquor or drugs,
or they’ll just multiply.

My belly, she’s so smart,
so sensitive, so dear.
That she knows how long
you haven’t been here.

And we’re writing this letter
to remind you we know,
you love us, you miss us,
you’re watching us grow.

When my hunger turns to pain,
I squint my watery eyes
and just feel the rain.