Matt Hotham '03

A constant brightening hum. Cars streak headlights across the lake.I hide cheeks behind my collar,

pretend not to followa beaver ambling down the sidewalk.She drags the weight of that too wide tail,

her waddle begging her back to water.I drag the weight of my too wide body.Out of context. We are out of context.

This wet lump of electrical currentin my head. This other slick lumpof fur and hunger before me.

I want to tell someone-find the lost 3 digits of a lost love’s number.I want to capture our kinship.

I wish for a camera. A cage.To hear my father’s voice.Car horns cackle as we pass.