Red Hands - Noaa Rienecker

I put my hand in the cookie jar
many times too many,
and the bounty tasted of salt,
and I figured nobody would’ve wanted it anyway.

I wrapped myself in a blanket of soft and beguiling
again and again,
and I was only colder for it,
and pretended not to know why.

It calls out like a bored housecat,
overfed and dependent,
and I answer like a weak parent
buys ice cream to silence a petulant child.

One day they’re gonna catch me red-handed,
half a cookie crumbling in my fingers,
and I’ll start to mumble something about salt,
and hang my head, and cry.