by Lauren Bledsoe
I still believe in hunger,
knees bent into prayer for more
than the usual hour at the table,
splitting plums into halves,
citrus to quarters. You turned away
to rinse your hands of it, the way
night is always a circle and a dark
away from departure, the way
when you touched my wrists
the day broke into a red wilderness.
The way you stood at the stove,
grilled asparagus to clean sweet,
….the way I told you, I still believe in hunger,
….and you told me to eat.