Hunkering   They must be etymological friends, those two words, hunch and hunker — hunch, the verb, not the noun, not the gambler’s last pretense of knowing the unknowable, disturbing the universe, but rather the act of drawing inward, making yourself small — you’re crouching, hunched, no target — and you’ve packed your bags, just in case. And hunker? You wall yourself in and hope for the best.                                                      I’m thinking of Masada, how it was for them, besieged, hunkering, gazing at the sinking sun, the Roman camp below, remembering everything they’d lost, the relentless rising ramp and everything it meant.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont March 2020