The Secret Life Of A Cookie

I know she's looking for me.

I hear her tossing pots and pans
and cans of green beans
and bags of sugar.
I hear her cursing-
and slamming drawers -
and breathing extra heavily.

She forgot where she put me.

Forgot that she tucked me away
behind the VCR tapes in the
old TV cabinet.

But she remembers
how sweet I am-
how perfectly delicious.
How tender and chocolaty
and moist and satisfying.
She remembers how totally
fantastic I feel in her hands-
her tummy-
her life.

She's getting colder.

Now she's searching the deep freeze
in the garage
and behind the car seats.
I even heard her looking in
the linen closet
beneath the toilet paper
and in the dog's bed.

I know she can smell me.

I know the memory of me
is still like heaven-
that the aroma of my crumbs
can cause her heart to palpitate-
That she can't wait to
kiss my chocolate chips
and embrace my
sugar-sweetened delight.

What?

Listen.

I don't hear her anymore.

She's given up again.
She's stopped looking for me.
She's stopped trying to remember me.

What's that?

Is she really eating a salad?
How cruel she is to me!
Hides me away in shame
and then takes up
with a member of the
vegetable gang!

I don't think she even
loves me anymore.

****************

55 days to go.
Keep those cookies hidden.