Bear-Hunger - Poem by Taylor Graham
I was sleeping when they came.
I slept in the savor of pot roast,
the woolish warmth of wood-stove,
and the long night’s moon measuring
But in the morning
I found their prints
stitching the old orchard,
circling each tree. They lifted
bear-bulk for the hanging apples,
the ones too poor to pick.
And so I reached, too,
and plucked just one,
and bit it to its seeds.
The flesh was sweet
but scant. It tasted
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