Devorah Feder (charcoal on paper, 8.5” x 11”)

There was a time

I loved to watch your hands

setting in against the stubborn pan.


Bagels, fried eggs, and home fries—

saddling us with heaped offerings

and hunching straightaway to strip scabs 

of egg from the hissing metal.


Dementia—your mind spilled 

softly, and we didn’t hear.


Now the toaster rings, now

the bread’s grain is scraped

with butter, a plate clangs,

and the quiet settles.

I’ve made you toast.


There was a time—it passed.