Tag Archives: hunger

Somewhere

If you were there
and I was there too
in a proximity
that allowed us to touch
each other in the flesh
instead of with words
I wonder where it would be—
if it would be on sand
or under trees
or under sun or moon?
Would we feel
something like this—
like need, like hunger,
like heaven?
I wonder how long
it would take to decide
whether or not we would
want to make love
the way we make love
in my imagination
on nights like this
when you’re there
and I’m here wondering
if my proximity to you
will ever change—
and if such a change
might change the way
I want you—
which is badly, and now.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
11-25-16

 

Photo by Deanna Morae

 

 

 

 

The Unexpected

(After Watching a Documentary on North Korea) 

Sometimes,
there are unexpected pleasures
which appear
in the form of vegetables
on your doorstep—
a gift from your neighbor,
whose surplus
became a kindness
you will want to repay.

Once, we woke in winter
to the noise of another neighbor
pushing his snow blower
up and down our drive,
making it clear
that we live in a small world
covered with goodwill
that grows out of prosperity
and the altruistic
nature of humanity.

An open door
is the contribution of this house.
Children are welcome here
when babysitters get sick
or mothers won’t make it home
before the bus.
Snacks or dinners
or beds are available here
on short notice
without charge.

Benevolence
is easiest
when the streets outside
are clean and unpopulated
with hunger or need—
when every television on your street
offers the illusion of choice
between reality or news
and you have no remote control
to turn it off.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
1-15-15