Morsels

I’ll never forget the night that grey-haired old woman
walked silently through my line, as if she had a secret she
couldn’t tell me, a secret the world would never understand.

I’ll never forget the Thanksgiving “feast” she

handed me four dollars for:
two packs of hot dogs and some pudding
 -- enough to feed her for a week.
It would have to; it was the last
four dollars she had.

I could hear in the words she didn’t speak that

she had no family, and I had to fight back
the tears that came to my eyes.

She took the change from my unsuspecting hand

and replaced it with some Hershey’s kisses
and sandwich cookies. She walked away
as silently as she had come, and without
a word spoken, I heard, plain as day:

“Even if you don’t have much, cherish every morsel.”

I’d never tasted something so sweet.