Tipton Poetry Journal – Spring 2021 at me or my plate? I couldn’t tell. We shared this meal of emptiness together— my heart banged in my chest with every bite as you watched me while standing by my car. Probably, you’re harmless—just a man down on his luck, out in the cold, and lonely; probably, I’m everything that’s wrong with this world—the kind of woman who can only see the predator in you, who can’t let go of yesterday, the last vestigial of fear beneath the surface of my skin that burns and burns and burns. What a cruel world we’ve all created— where compassion is a luxury, where fear and hunger seem to conquer all, where seeing you as human is a risk that I can’t take tonight. I’m but a rabbit, holed up in the safety of her burrow, and you’re locked in the role of timber wolf, nose to the ground, awaiting my emergence into the open fields of the night, starving for something I can never give.
Katherine Hoerth is the author of five poetry collections, including the forthcoming Flare Stacks in Full Bloom (Texas Review Press, 2021). She is an assistant professor at Lamar University and editor of Lamar University Literary Press. Her writing interests include eco-poetry, feminism, and formalism. She is a member of the Texas Institute of Letters and lives near Houston.
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