The Hunger of the Famished
1 Minute Read Time
Grandma floats over the stovetop— a cloud of light Edges of her soiled robe skim the kitchen floors I sit by her side small like a child I’m all mouth— the rest of the body an afterthought Please forgive me for always thinking about food Jittery jewels of meat jelly laced with fat, jam-topped pancakes blossoming out From you I’ve learned how to reuse matches, divide a cake, and grow another body inside my own In your tiny home I devour all I’m served, the third eye of my belly button seeing what you see stacks of limbs thin as firewood on the side of the street as your mother’s hand shields your eyes To this day a stash of rice underneath a floorboard In your drawer, like a memento, a piece of bread
Read more from Issue 19.1.
