Hungry Dreamers

A poem about fragile longing…and cheese.

What vanishes from a house does not always leave emptiness behind. Even the last slice becomes a tide of thought, proof that beauty can arise from what is nearly gone. There is a need to believe in movement when the world feels motionless. It is like standing with branches in one’s hands and pretending there is a breeze – not because the illusion is foolish, but because the soul sometimes survives by practising hope. Even on a glass path, even in a house of small disappearances, something in us keeps listening for the song before its doors close.

“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.” — G. K. Chesterton

Hungry Dreamers

Are we not all just walking
on this glass path?
Crawling past the days,
walking through the minutes,
then crawling again
until the song closes its doors?

Cheese always had a habit
of disappearing
in the early hours of morn.
My mother always said
our mice were many
hungry dreamers.

She’d heat the last slice
in the microwave,
and I’d watch it turn
into a tide of thought
and melody.

We’d sit on a fragile porch,
observing the sharp peaks of light,
the unmoving breath of morning.

Let me stand here, holding branches,
and pretend
there is a breeze.

Miriam H. Monarres

Photo by Rita E.

Thank you very much for reading my work. Seeing that quote inspired me to write a poem about cheese. However, if you know me, it is obviously not (just) about the cheese. Please share your thoughts in the comments and like my publication. This lets me know you enjoyed my work and helps other readers discover it. I truly appreciate every read, like, share, and subscribe.

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Love,

Miriam