Hunger

- Ganges, Saltspring Island

We are splitting a chicken dinner
in the late sunlight, when the man who
has been watching, approaches us.
He sits down nearby, begins talking
in the way that requires little response,
although we feel we have to
say a word now and then

He is drinking, is older, tells us
he is a master carver: his dog just
died, he's divorced, his only son
lives in Vancouver--in my house!--
but he is my only son, you know. He doesn't
like me to stay long. I'm carving a piece
for Bill Gates, you know. Whenever
I travel to the city, I come back here
as soon as I can. I've lived here for 14
years. I sell my work in the states--
they aren't as cheap as Canadians.

We continue eating, nodding, turning
back to each other when he takes a long
pause. A Mountie walks by and the man
expertly hides his beer, then laughs
about it--you guys missed it! He didn't
even see my beer! He laughs again
and drinks some more, studying us,
the green grass, someone's small
dog, on his way over. The dog
crawls under my legs, looking
for scraps from our dinner.

I have to confess--I want to walk away.
I know--I'm the lucky one here--
husband beside me, warm dinner in my belly--
and so dogs, lonely old men appear
out of the grass and blue sky, asking
for everything they need.
But I do want to go; I want to pretend
I'm not growing older, that I won't
lose anyone, that I'll never
hungrily watch a woman
who casually eats her richly laden life.

copyright 2006 Emily Wall
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