Kate Gawiel

KATE GAVRIEL

SCAVENGE

We stand near the cement steps of The Field Museum. The lake is Anxious and Overwhelming, sowe turn to The concrete escaliers. Their Height is not as intimidating as the

Restive blue of the Water and the random silver of Floating fish bellies. There Is A family at the steps, too. Fathet mother, and

Childrenwho scream and Imitate the

Seagulls. Acoo too Deranged to evoke memories of Any calmer species. He is No longer listening to their

Juvenile, jarring chorus. There Is a glint in his eye and

I realize he is Countingthe

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Fish. His mind ignorant of Two

I-oud children. I continue to Sitthere, Atthe top of The giant stairs. He is standing and Walking to the edge of the Concrete block that is

Ourstadium. Heis Dangling his feet over, and I go to Sitbyhim. The Fish have been disturbed from their Calm ride and The children have lost the contest. The sharp cries of

Seagulls signify the start of the feast that is Their dinner. Andwe stayto Watch their stomach filIfrom the

Scavenge.

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