Hunger

There was a time I had yellow

hair. My head was a triangle tangle.

I held bowls of cold porridge, upside down,

tickled, lonely.

I confess, once I woke with dark curls in

my mouth, frothing.

I watched him sleep. I watched him stutter.

The light through the trees grew slanter

and slanter.

I stayed with him

until the leaves collapsed from trees.

perhaps I, too, was leaving.

Nevertheless,  I tallied off

secret wars.

Back then, I liked how the house was clapped, how lace

had a faint spider map. This made me feel strong like wine,

and weak, like wine.

But for you:  you who arrived

craving beauty: You are only as hungry as you

claim to be. Perhaps more.

-Jk