Help and Hummus

Vanilla and Brownie Batter Hummus from Aldi.


Sometimes hummus is help.
It’s luxurious enough to be beyond
our everyday.
At least my everyday.
It’s exorbitant, decadent.
Sidewalk coffee or
an un-needed book.
When they’re all needed.
Almost as much as the help.

Sometimes, that’s all we offer ourselves.
An acceptable extravagance.
As if help is something to be saved
and spent miserly.
Only so much to go around.
Eventually no more in the bowl.

Sometimes we need more.
Help needs to be more.
If we can’t ask,
and it can’t tell,
we scrape our knuckles
scooping up the last morsel
left us.
Not feeling worth
another exchange,
us for a new opening.

Sometimes help is there.
Our doubt and bewilderment
don’t change that.
Until it does
and our pulling from the past
everyone not and don’t
chases it from there
to gone.
It showed up.

Sometimes help is delicious.
There for the sheer delight of it.
Plated in front of you,
served for your enjoyment.
Pushing away from the table
as if you don’t deserve
only wastes the sate
you could know.
Allow the indulgence.
Savor it.
Roll it over your tongue.
Lick the heat and
swallow the sweetness.

Sometimes help standing in your kitchen
can be as deserved as
the hummus on the counter.
Just as real.
Just as tempting,
as emptying
if you choose it.
To fill you,
inspire, conspire
to stoke your fire
for existing.
Take the help,
lick the plate,
enjoy the taste
as everything it can be
and as it is.

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