In the Closet
I sit down to take a bite – the first bite, the last bite; they want it all, except if it’s on their own plate.
I would give them any organ in my body, any breath they needed, my life.
Yet I hide in the kitchen, in the pantry, over the sink, and eat my food – shovel my food – into my mouth before they can ask for it.
“Mama?” “Yes, honey?” “Why does your mouth smell like chocolate’s in there?”
“There, there, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”