Treasure in the Dark
The dark cellar of painful memory is
Musty with cobwebs, dank, dirty and damp.
Don’t be afraid.
As you creep down the stairs, flip the switch.
Look with new eyes in the bare bulb’s light
And you may find
High in the corner tucked on a dusty shelf
A jar of peach preserves waiting to be opened
And spread on a wedge of warm toast.
As you savor the sweetness the pain melts away
A reminder there is treasure in the dark.