At a Certain Hunger Point

By Lana Bella

Artwork by Susan Peters

She was a stoic woman,
measured by the shape of
her pencil-legs emptying out
the frayed country dress.

She was a frugal woman,
mused by the fat severed at
the elbows, and ewers of sun-
light preserved in the cellar.

Two cats lived with her, seen
by the patchwork of ebony and
tawny whiskered-tails curled
away from the stone hearth.

The morning hunger came to
her bedside, said the cigarette
felled from her fingers with
nothing more than an ache in
her ribs.

Desires she nursed on autumn
nights, remembered by the hands
leaving ghost imprints on glass
panes, when she had already
lived on earth for ten years more.

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