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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3782 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Hunger Jim Doss Again the light comes on in the kitchen sliding its thin blade through the bedroom doorjamb to jab me in the eye. I see the clock’s red digits roll through 1:30. I hear cousin George knocking the pots and pans around, banging cabinets closed, kicking the refrigerator, and cursing under his breath. His belly growls like a cornered wolverine. He slides the chair across the floor with a whine as pieces of paper rustle like birds taking flight. Then a pencil taps out Morse code for what seems like minutes before its steady strokes begin to sketch out a white bowl holding a stock of chicken broth, carrots sinking like depth charges of flavor, slices of celery paddling from side to side, bow-tie noodles drifting with the current, broccoli buds bobbing like green buoys, and flakes of meat darting around like schools of fish. His fingers lift the spoon to his slurping mouth. Spoonful after spoonful of yellow liquid tumbles into his stomach to satisfy the emptiness. When metal clinks against the bottom of the bowl, he eases back, cracks his knuckles as he yawns, ready to sleep before the start of another day of lifting cans of beans, spaghetti, and chunky soup into plastic or paper bags, the day of the week when his name will appear in the cellophane window of an envelope that contains too little to carry him into next week, next year, and the rest of his life. |
