In the room where he waits, hunger
has become his friend and confidante.
When hunger returned after a long trip,
he ran toward it like a lost lover back
from desert travails with exotic stories
of horses and wild fruit. Now, he holds
hunger in his arms murmuring, tell me,
again, those stories. The details never
change, and, as time goes on, he begins
to tell the stories himself, so by heart
he knows them. After some time, they
have nothing left to tell. There is no
gnawing in his gut, though hunger is
there. In the pale light, clearly the bet
has been lost; he is satiated by hunger.
In all fairness, shouldn’t god let him go?
Laura McCullough
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paradise-on-the-head-of-a-pin/
