The Oldest Privilege
I thought perhaps I was not
sufficiently intimate with true hunger,
had not licked to the bone
enough to write about meat.
But the dog on the street told me
as he ate from my hand that
starved animals have no words
for taste, only for space, space, space
and that which does or does not occupy it.
Now I know there is an in-between
where sweet is wanted and salt is craved,
where lips are licked with happy tongues
and warm-bellied satisfaction.
It is where I met you first—
over breakfast and coffee, our hands
brushing as we reached for the sugar.