dried piece of toast---Writers Island

hunger nudged me out of my trance;
gnawing to my bones.
cutting a piece of week-old loaf, I chewed it dry-
my saliva making a pulp of it,
swallowing was hard,
but my belly needed sustenance;
only that had the power to hold me together.

no more memories tonight, please
spare me that ordeal-
what I had lost in spontaneity
had to be made up with prudent living.
chaos was not to be seen-
I had taken care of that.
needing something hot for my chilled soul,

I prepared cinnamon tea precisely measuring out
two teaspoonful sugar along with cream.
carrying both the cups in a tray
I placed it on the sidetable in our bedroom.
pulling at her knitted quilt,
shaking her shoulder gently
I softly called out her name.

truth hit me like a spring,
I howled loud in the dead of night-
looking with blurred eyes,
as if almost spellbound
my finger-prints on her neck,
marked so well into her skin-
deeply embedded in my heart.