Roast Beef

[claire_writes]

I believe at heart,
that truth lies
in a settled house,
like a strong cup of coffee.

filled with the crisp beans
of at least a generation or two-

dropping plates,
and dishes of squash,
bowls of carrots,
hordes of roast beef
on the table.

picking at each other's
imperfections like
a fistful of beaks
snips at broken
clusters of floating crumbs.

I believe one need not
clog the rows of
airplanes, and fill the sky
with steel and smog-

to unveil the secrets
of the world, to pocket
the coins of happiness,
the charms of content.

a chain of paperclips,
connecting the generations
like orange juice and tea,
is vital.

I believe,
the wisdoms of travel,
are a myth-
like the glistening promises
of multiplying wealth,
or the cure of chocolate.