Stupidly. Like a dog,
like drought
flood, like a vole
the hawk lifts screaming
to its first and last
panoramic.
Each want sired
want and I
was drowning in it—
but kept my head
just enough
above the choking
to choke more.
A dog, I said,
or rat pressing
lever unto death.
May we all die wanting
and getting it.
About Melissa Stein
Melissa Stein is the author of the poetry collection Rough Honey, winner of the APR/Honickman First Book Prize. Her work has appeared in Tin House, American Poetry Review, New England Review, Harvard Review, Best New Poets, and many other journals and anthologies, and she has received fellowships from Yaddo, the MacDowell Colony, and the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, as well as several awards. She is a freelance editor and writer in San Francisco.
