Hunger Artist
       

I believe I could have saved him.
What he wanted was easy: the poured
sweet wine of encouragement. A smile.

In another life he might have grown
a comfortable margin of flesh, he might
have kept all his teeth and been spared

translation into the skeleton's cage.
I would have kept an eye on him,
fed him with words passed like bread

broken into a confession of trust.
I would have revealed my own fast,
my own body ribboned into syllables

of bone. I would have untied
the sad bow of his mouth
looped and knotted for a kiss.

Copyright © 2009 Rita Signorelli-Pappas All rights reserved
from Satyr's Wife
Serving House Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission