Poetry to prose- Empty Chairs and Empty Tables from Les Miserables

       There is a grief I cannot bear to utter. There's a pain that never ends. Empty refrigerators and empty pantries, where the food once happily rested like those pixar blue birds before their downfall. At the Belschners they spoke of eating poppy-seed chicken, and we salivated for tomorrow, when Mrs. Belschner would return with her arms full of groceries. But the chicken never came. How could we know that those chips and salsa would be our final supper. Oh my roommates don't ask me, where all the milk has gone. Eric ate it with a pound of cereal. Those froot loops are digested and no more. And those donuts from Rosauer's- Devon ate like there was no mañana. . Oh my roommates forgive me, that I ate fettuccine and you did not. I gaze at those empty shelves. All that is left is that nasty Canadian ice-tea. Phantom bagels on the counter, spectral cream cheese on the floor. As my roommates waste away, hoping for salvation, I secretly eat my scones from wheat berries.