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| The Hunger of the LemurOn a hill he had climbed all winterthe lemur noticed a small black bird with yellow spots, the way the night ought to look. The hill still slept under his feet like something hard and dead, it was the birds who were different. The large black ones, without confidence now that the trees were softening and the roofs warming up like pans. A police car sighed with the contentment of the overfed. Burst chokecherries sat around as reminders of death. A girl stopped, then walked the other way. The lemur couldn't smell anything besides himself as if for the first time. He thought: I am a nose in a vacuum shaped like a nose I am the only lemur on the grey ice These are only the slimy bones of trees, not trees -Matthew Rohrer |
