The door, dutch
I’m hungry but she watches.
I stalk, I hide, I crouch behind the rocks.
Her face appears at the window. I grow weary of those white walls but never of her willows. The hair that hangs like branches. reaching, tangling, touching.
I’m hungry. I watch the chickens eat. She watches me.
I lick my lips and look at her’s. I crawl, creep, and curl up.
A chicken screams, I wake. It is her wake. She’s walked from the red door in a black case. Others weep while I watch.
She no longer does.
I’m no longer hungry.
I never was.
Emily Fluckiger is a writer and an English major with a focus in American Literature. She has had nonfiction pieces published in local mediums as well as fiction prose and poetry published in literary magazines and anthologies. She plays video games with her two toddlers and husband in California.