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
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