The speaker confesses to eating clay, a habit the title calls geophagy, the eating of earth. The word "again" suggests a craving that keeps returning. The clay is "that nothing," yet it satisfies "to the full," so the poem sits in a paradox: an empty, tasteless thing that somehow fills a hunger. The speaker compares it to an "ugly child let in at a back door," something unwanted but quietly welcomed, perhaps with a little shame and a lot of tenderness.
The last lines widen the focus. Away from the land, the speaker says, "I have no name," as if identity depends on the ground itself. What remains is "the troubled dish / we all call home," which could mean the Earth, a bowl we all eat from, or both. The mood is intimate, earthy and a bit uneasy. The poem seems to say that belonging means taking in the soil we come from, even when that feels strange or imperfect.