The Sound of a Lentil Breaking 

Monique Zamir

A dog, raw in its sodden nest  of thistles, tongues a dying squirrel.  

Through the window, red lentils rain out of a strainer,  a man sings with his record player, the strain 

in his voice hidden by the hum of a blue jay, the tender 
alligator flesh, the weight of a thimble on a tear in the fabric. 

In a whistle, the dog is gone, the man's voice cracks. He stares at the dead squirrel, 
the lentils in a boiling pot, soft 
enough to swim in. 

Monique Zamir's poetry has been published in Salamander, Poetry South, Fifth Wednesday Journal, Josephine Quarterly, Little Patuxent Review, The Virginia Normal, Mikrokosmos, Lunch Ticket, Falchion Publications, and others. She is a graduate from Oklahoma State University where she completed her MFA in poetry. She received an honorable mention from the Academy of American Poets Scholarship for her poem, “Even the Stone Will Keep.” Find more of her poetry and nonfiction at  http://moniquezamir.wixsite.com/portfolio. From New York, Monique lives in Austin, Texas.