(April 2014)


devours my heart


stealing little nibbles at a time

like a friend

sneaking a grape out of my bowl

when my head is turned.

When I turn back

I don’t notice its absence.

When I turn away again

she steals another two,

and then yet another.

When I get to the bottom

I wonder how they all disappeared so




I don’t realize that

the platform beneath my confidence

is rotten wood,

the pieces of it

stolen away

by termites;

I don’t hear the creak

as I step over sagging boards





until I fall through.


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