has been there, filled all so fully…
it needs fresh air
it so could use.
the door’s never closed,
shelves upon shelves
have remains
those sticky crumbs of grated, fallen
jelled stickiness,
like it took never
to have lost so much on them.
boxed anger, bitter anger
bottles of unclear thoughts
cans that were kept open,
of fears which got no lid on them
crackling racks of granules
of empty scoops of content
dull, dull, dullness
fills the vision
stacked, seen, noted
wrongfully though!
the onlooker can’t be real, or
can’t seem to see, so it is.
yet there they are,
brown bags of a few lucky chips
containers that have sweetness preserved.
hope, faith & care - all sealed in double foiled tins
all the hard work & innocent dreams,
zip locked in a transparent bag
shoved in some corner, safely…
only to be found on the top top shelve
who could know, where they are at?
who could care to reach to them?
the pantry’s so full with all else
where is place for them?
wishfully thinking,
will someone get a step stool, please?
the pantry has it.
