Prayer to Hunger and Frogs

The tadpoles have stars 

in their bellies.

We don’t know  how long it takes    

for the sky to be broken down 

into enzymes.   

To dissolve into the ache

of this universe 

lined by a gut.   

Listen, now.   It’s asking: 

Is this hunger our attempt 

    at Love?   

Are the newborn monsters deafened  

by the growling?

And look.  There’s nothing left. 

No more constellations   

to pick at.  

No moon-shaped   

shoulder blades.

But what if   it was soft earth    

  it craved

a house woven   from all the roots 

  that don’t crunch?

As our shadows dissolve 

in the pond, 

silly and drunk, 

our hands,

blistered 

from all the grass 

they’ve brushed,

still move     

still reach: 

for comets

for salt 

for a freckle 

for a lash to wish on

for a touch.

And as we go back

to our house 

of butter and crumbs

I think of the tadpoles 

and I think of my fate,

in this 

and every universe:

To be the chandelier above 

your mother’s tablecloth: 

Mouth gorging 

on a feast of bile 

and tender meat.

Sticky juice  

running down

your chin.

By Benedetta Mancusi for CRoB Digital, edited by Jacob Burgess-Rollo

Artwork by Lyra Harrison