but
it
poured
into
me
I didn’t eat the ocean but the waves of the
south the east the west and the north
lapped against my feet and my soles drank
in the saltwater i didn’t eat the roads but a
thousand miles of asphalt rebuilt my bones
filling in all the faultlines all the places worn
down to breakage i didn’t eat the monte but
the earth the scent of earth the scent of
monte the scent of lluvia filled me and filled
me and remade my flesh i didn’t run with the
coyotes but i howled with them i howled with
them and
remembered
what
freedom
was
i didn’t eat the wind but it found my mouth
and poured in and i felt my wings my
shriveled long forgotten wings filling and
stretching and reaching and unfolding how
was it i’d forgotten myself how was it i’d
collapsed and collapsed in on myself i didn't
eat the sun but all the light came streaming
in and oh with what gladness with what
relief with what joy i received it so much
light when i hadn't even known
i’d
been
sitting
in
the
dark
Copyright © 2026 by ire’ne lara silva. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 25, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.