Today, I know better
Than to expect a
Sweet goodnight and
Sleep tight when I reach
Inside and stub my fingertips
On the cold hard bottom
Of the jar. Only crumbs.
Warm milk, then, and
Something mild,
Saltines, perhaps, or hot,
Buttered white-bread toast.
Tomorrow the cayenne,
And ginger, bitter chocolate
And tart cherry pie. The most
I can hope for now is
A sweet breeze through
My veiled window and
A light burning softly
Beside my cool pillow.
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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