Hunkering

 

They must be etymological friends,

those two words, hunch and hunkerhunch, 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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