Poem: Hummus

This morning I scraped the hummus into the trash.

For a week it lurked, with its pale creamy peaks

uneaten but smelling of desert and delight

 

I had made it for you – swirled the olive oil

and tahini, the hint of chipotle pepper

that makes it the world’s best hummus, you said once

 

but you opted for peanut butter sandwiches

instead, or anything from the cabinet

and I didn’t have the heart to eat what I put

 

my heart into making with the lemon juice.

It stuck to the spoon as I heaped it into

the cat litter and set the silver bowl to soak.

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About whitecatgrove

The musings of a Druid priestess, singer, poet and musician in Upstate New York.
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