You ate them all.

An empty cookie jar

--no, a can,

you know,

the Danish ones,

my fingers scrape at

the bottom

lined with crumbs,

I put the lid back

drumming it back on,

the hollow sound

it echoes--

I remember exactly

how they taste

the smell of butter,

occasionally coconut,

a single raisin,

you ate them all,

now all I have--

the little parchment cups

you rudely left behind.