Hunger

by Sarah Anderson

You see, it was hot orange light back in the forest
by the rusted water tower where he said never turn this way —
flames billowed to the right —
never want this way again.

She couldn’t make out his face across the flames rising
            a giant metal bucket
the frozen lake. She wasn’t sure
            what it was but a hunger, the kind only a virgin knows

This was primal. Two people staring at each other
            through the swirling dust and slide projector light

an art history lecture twenty years ago. He looked at her
            chipping clay from beneath a thumbnail. Her hands
                        were rough.

She searched for him during lectures,
His five o’clock shadow. What if she had gone with him
            to the water tower?