George Mills at a reading at the Indian Hill Press, on Martha's Vineyard, to celecbrate the publication of George's book Squandering. Photograph by Ron Hall taken November 1996


George Mills

It has no use for squirming
buttocks, chairs that strain and creak,

elbows at bored
angles as supper drags on. Hunger is not distracted

by the wish to know what it is
the breathless woman in the summer night has to say.

It sits in an elm,
in the lap of the sky,

dangling its feet,
When the moment comes, it leaps

and rises.
Hunger knows how Up--the ravenous dimension-- stretches on

till art and light are useless.
With the back-to-back of sun and moon far below

hunger rages,
hunger is home.

Copyright ©1998 The estate of George Mills. All rights reserved.

George Mills' poem, Autobiographical Note
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