HUNGER
came down from the hills
stealing in through a slight break
in the fence, a thoughtless day’s work
of forgetting. He slinks round the back way
looking for scraps I’ve left. Rough-furred
and bony under hand, I’d lost sight of him
in summer’s bustling seeds and furrows.
Now, as the days thin,
pared sliver by sliver at twilight’s
widening rim, I think of his warm burr
curled at my spine. I begin leaving him bowls
of empty and scraped plates of watching.
Soon, he is my sleek companion again,
his
footsteps dogging mine.
About
the Poet:
Shangrila
Willy is a collector of words, shoes, fables, and other embroidered
things. She lives in Baltimore with her lugubrious Great Dane and her
husband who mucks about in brains. She has most recently been
published in Pear Noir!, Rattle, and Gargoyle; and
has work forthcoming in Measure, Magma, and cream city
review.
About the Sound of Sugar:
We’ve loved reading the work that we’ve published (clearly), so now we want an opportunity to better hear our contributors. We will feature an audio recording of a poem from one of our seven issues, read by the poet and updated every couple of weeks. This an open invitation to all contributors from any of our issues, we were delighted to print your work, now we’re eager to hear it.
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