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.

“Yes, honey?”
“Why does your mouth smell like chocolate’s in there?”

“There, there, sweetheart.
Go to sleep.”

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