Solari’s new poem was shared to her Facebook page on Friday.
Hunger
His voice is the taste of Michelob
and cheap weed, a late spring evening
leaning into summer in somebody’s
absent parents’ rec room. Black lights
and band posters. “Saturate Before Using”
spinning our smoke-addled heads. Now
someone picks up a guitar, and the still-
though-not-for-much-longer tenor star
of our school chorus starts singing, Doctor,
my eyes, and everyone, even the metal-head
kids, chimes in. We all know this singer’s
story — the loss of his young, suicidal wife,
and earlier, how he’d strummed his way
from California to New York City, fell
in love with Lou Reed’s muse, Nico, who
according to pop legend popped his cherry
when he was just about the age we all
are now.
Maybe that’s why that summer
even the boys loved Jackson Browne,
working with gels and blow dryers to mimic
the silk-winged fall of his hair, while
every girl believed that she alone could
heal his complicated heart. Now I want to
understand, we sang, and sang again,
facing into the future, hungry, certain
that suffering, when it came, could
only make us wiser and more beautiful.
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