THE ONE WHERE I’M HUNGRY

The One Where I’m Hungry

By Nora Glass

Oh, I’m sick with 

A hollow stomach, 

My knuckles wooden 

And my head gas. 

Buxom apples roll on the counter,

uneaten; A snake travels up my throat. 

Green, about to wretch, 

I swallow, gag, blink, cry. 

My cheeks are swollen red with air.

My chest turning, 

Stomach beating like a horse, 

I rise with the wind. 

I smolder, the pit in my stomach 

Well fed 

Until I waste away, 

Dark cinders snaking on the breeze.