Hunger Moon - Taylor Hamann Los

Hunger Moon

A wolf drags down
the only whitetail
we’ve seen in days,
her teeth slick
with blood
and meat
in the lamplight.
My husband says
she reminds him
of the Carpathians,
of snow-heavy spruce,
though throats
of slaughtered deer
summon ghosts
in every forest.
He asks if I remember
how we were once children
who lit fire to things
we didn’t understand,
who let meltwater
run across our tongues.
At that age,
we would have followed
the wolf, not heeding
the silent oracle
of her ribs
still believing the mountains
could be less hungry,
more forgiving.

Originally published by EVOKE 2022

Taylor Hamann Los is an MFA student at Lindenwood University. Her poetry has appeared in Parentheses Journal, Anti-Heroin Chic, and Split Rock Review, among others. She lives with her husband and two cats in Wisconsin. You can find her on Twitter (@taylorhamannlos) and Instagram (taylorhlos_poetry) or at taylorhamannlos.wordpress.com.