She stares into what I hope is a telephoto lens,
water cascading from her jaw in silver chains,
eyes narrow and cold as a snowstorm sky.
She has no task before her but get big and
bigger; smash open fish that flash like chrome,
their insides drugstore-lipstick pink. I’m a
blond and so is she—a honey blond—but
the males are afraid of her. I admire her legs’
brawny columns, supporting that vast temple
built of her desire, her belly. Both her cubs
are on their own now. All she needs is all
the salmon and a sleep so food-deep that she—
the park rangers call her Grazer—will forget
what hunger was, even in dreams. Of course she
didn’t ask permission. My sister says to ask
is to be denied. Grazer agrees. Just take what
you want, no need for please and don’t
pretend you can’t eat that last bite of sushi! I
want to storm the icy water of my old age like
her, river loud at my enormous feet: fat and
without shame. More powerful even than time.