Poem
Jill Jones
A TASTE FOR HUNGER
A TASTE FOR HUNGER
A TASTE FOR HUNGER
I have put my hand out to the word.It’s been there for days. Hovering
between the newspaper and the television.
It’s been crying. I can tell this pain. The pulling
apart. Pages in telephone books and directories,
their rough skins drag the air.
It’s between the kitchen’s song — making,
a smell of it. What’s left in the corner,
wrapped in old newspaper — And
the song of living rooms, steady humming.
An excuse for silence these days.
And when the crying doesn’t stop
the word becomes water bowl,
salty in making. This taste of hunger,
and weakness. I hate it
the weakness and hovering. I push out
my hand, ancient weapon. But too late.
The word’s begun to fill with blood.
© 2002, Jill Jones
From: Screens Jets Heaven. New and Selected Poems
Publisher: Salt Publishing, Cambridge
From: Screens Jets Heaven. New and Selected Poems
Publisher: Salt Publishing, Cambridge
Poems
Poems of Jill Jones
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A TASTE FOR HUNGER
I have put my hand out to the word.It’s been there for days. Hovering
between the newspaper and the television.
It’s been crying. I can tell this pain. The pulling
apart. Pages in telephone books and directories,
their rough skins drag the air.
It’s between the kitchen’s song — making,
a smell of it. What’s left in the corner,
wrapped in old newspaper — And
the song of living rooms, steady humming.
An excuse for silence these days.
And when the crying doesn’t stop
the word becomes water bowl,
salty in making. This taste of hunger,
and weakness. I hate it
the weakness and hovering. I push out
my hand, ancient weapon. But too late.
The word’s begun to fill with blood.
From: Screens Jets Heaven. New and Selected Poems
A TASTE FOR HUNGER
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