Some termites sleep inside their appetites,
make caves in the stomach of a decoy.
Wings like small machetes shuddered
in the pickerelweeds while a widgeon
landed in the blind to pray
for a sister.
There’s some grace
in the apprehension of a claw: I
want to scuttle into shadow where
hermits shut their hands, lumber
aching like a savior.
ambiguous, but all there was for us
to eat. We gripped the anonymity,
inhaling marrow like a horn.
Chad Foret is recent graduate of the Creative Writing program at The University of Southern Mississippi. He teaches world literature and composition at Southeastern Louisiana University. Recent work appears or is forthcoming in Best New Poets, Tupelo Quarterly, Spoon River Poetry Review, The Pedestal Magazine, Nashville Review, and other journals and anthologies.