The Empty Cooking Pot
By E. O., 2nd Year
The cooking pot sits on the stove,
Empty.
Grayish potatoes produce a rotting stench.
The cottage is quiet,
The silence broken only by a cough.
A wheeze.
The room is stuffy.
Filled with disease.
–
There was a time
When the house was filled with music and laughter.
A time when our stomachs were
full.
And so were our hearts.
But then the blight came
And never again
Were we the same.
–
We are not starving.
The hunger has passed.
All we feel is emptiness.
We are hollow,
Slowly wasting away.
Empty.
Just like the cooking pot.
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