Bear-Hunger Poem by Taylor Graham

I was sleeping when they came.
I slept in the savor of pot roast,
the woolish warmth of wood-stove,
and the long night’s moon measuring
my dreams.

But in the morning
I found their prints
stitching the old orchard,
circling each tree. They lifted
bear-bulk for the hanging apples,
the ones too poor to pick.

And so I reached, too,
and plucked just one,
and bit it to its seeds.
The flesh was sweet
but scant. It tasted
like hunger.