The crumbs leftover

Make croutons from stale bread, crunchy topping from browned ends in the bottom of the skillet,

Sprinkle a snuggle into an evening of ugliness, having rendered you helpless to take the needed remedy —

Speak your truth to the few who fill your world anymore, since illness has cancelled another invitation

And hope that rights will be made wrong when caregivers smashed your hope for care in a recent time of need.

Oh how I hate living with the leftover crumbs of life . . .

But if that is all I have then the sweet scent of my hubby’s nape

Must measure greater than the absence of intimacy

And the nosings of my pup will keep me from being alone.

I grieve, I reel

From lost days, lost nights

Six hour naps

Nightmares and convulsions.

Siiiiiiiiigh.  Hold me Lord.  It’s morning!

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