 | By Luisa A. Igloria on June 22, 2024 | How to be a heart without a human hunger, how to be
a hunger you can sate without harm? Today I went
into the yard to see if any figs were ripe enough
to pick, and found a small nest in the fork of a branch.
I couldn't tell if it was abandoned, or if speckled eggs
nestled inside. Underneath, everything seemed
a call and answer of dapple and wing; everything
thatched thick with heat that we index, as if it
could be pressed into the pages of a book.
Just a few days ago, reports of a rare pink dolphin
sighting in the Outer Banks turned out to be
computer-generated: fake. How to explain
the need to satisfy that kind of hunger, that desire
to flood the world with poor copies of itself?
A first taste leads to another, then another. | | | |
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