The pink building glows
like dawn that doesn’t end.
A small cross of stone
crowns her,
a gentle monument
of lost purpose.
Nuns once walked these halls,
straight and long,
their lives soft veils,
their hunger transformed, hour
by hour, into song.
Two eggs with sourdough toast
and homemade jam—
sweetness to swallow salt.
French fries, edges crisp,
spinach and grilled ham—
flesh under heat
made to sweat grease.
I lift my fork and pause,
trying to remember
when everything
felt intentional.
I see you walking
back to our table.
I catch the waiter
watching me,
thinking I must need
something.
I smile at a young man
who still believes
in appetite.
Atáscate ahora que hay lodo.
About the Author: Jacob Friesenhahn is the author of the poetry collection The Prayer of the Mantis (Kelsay Books, 2025). This poem appears here for the first time.