Voracious Reader

Growling
Roaring
Rumbling
Tumbling
--I’m hungry

No steak done rare can satiate my thirst for blood
No cannoli from a Brooklyn bakery
No bread
Nothing can fill me
Except words

I eye my caged bird singing and it begins to look like a delectable snack, the song just a rouse to distract me from my next meal

A catfish from the Mississippi that a huckleberry caught is served on a platter
About to be devoured
I wipe the crumbs of Nietzsche from my shirt
And swallow the last bit of Thoreau, pond water washing down my last supper

I cringe at my final course, but I’m still so hungry, so I tear into Steinbeck, swirling mice tails flicking past my lips
and the dust settles.

by Tara Lynne Brown

Email: taralynne@taralynnebrown.com