Gluttony of Gilead

By Mahailey Oliver

He wanted my fruits—I’d plenty to spare,

and spare for him I would gladly proceed.

He wanted my locks of chestnut brown hair

and why not give it to him for his need?

He yearned for my arms to cradle his head,

or accidents, knocks, would surely ensue.

He yearned for my time, my patience, my bed

or cold-heartedness of me he’d accuse.

He wanted, he yearned, he needed, he begged

until I had no more feast to provide.

He supped of my bottle down to the dreg

and plucked out a rib bone from my own side.

And what, pray tell, became of the marrow?

Swallowed away with my pit of sorrow.

Mahailey Oliver is a graduate student of English and Advanced Pedagogy at Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas. Her work has previously appeared in Dipity, Interstellar Flight Magazine, and Amarillo Bay. Her body and soul are both made happy with a chilly autumn breeze and camping under starlight.