It happened last weekend.
It was unexpected—I don't know what came over me. I ate
with a certain ferocity.

I had gone to bed at 6 pm, I'm pretty sure,
quite early, even for me,
to find myself scrambling out of bed 8 hours later to the refrigerator from which I brought out

a whole chicken.
Cutting it up in slices, getting it ready
to throw into the oven—yes.
Salt, pepper, fat.

With such precision, such organized precision,
as if my body knew what I was about to do.

I was impatient, I could not hold myself
could not wait.

And that's when it happened.

Now, it's been a week, and I'm not sure whether it was a dream

but the chicken is gone
and the oven has been unused, perfectly clean

yes
I believe I ate that chicken

 
 
 
 
 
 
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