One old promise, dry and crumbling,
she discovers
cleverly wedged between two cushions
neatly prior to dusk.
She tries to rinse off the treasure,
to make it new again,
but it falls apart
as her vision dissolves like salt.
Another little morsel
she unearths with mounting joy,
despite the traces of time it bears like scars;
moldy from months of weeping rain.
As she brushes it off, attempting to erase
the grime, the scattered matter
in disintegration,
devours her last single sliver of hope.
Cautiously dissecting the couch,
pillow by shuddering pillow,
she witnesses the telltale crumbs
before they made a frantic break for it…
Gone to smithereens!
For her you baked loaves of dreams,
but time has distorted
the pattern of your shimmering promises.
And she’s still hungry.
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