why yes, i bake things
(zucchini things in summer)
feels like Hell’s Kitchen
my oven burned me
burned us all with its heat spread
well, not anymore
that’s right, baby:
a 9×13 glass dish,
two 8-inch cake pans
this Breville will hold
a 12-inch cast iron pan
without burning us
worth every penny
(it’s not even Christmas yet)
boy am i ready
condolences trap:
how could i possibly give
when i don’t get it?
sometimes i think: Hell.
twenty days of solid heat.
(Denver in summer)
and then i recall
our glorious altitude
and misty mornings
i will swim for views
only captured here at home
(Denver forever)
what’s more beautiful—
this red, water-begging dawn
or my daughter’s grin?
each touched by showers
so desperate to soothe our souls
from this hellfire
zucchini again
hidden in pesto pasta,
garden tomatoes
zucchini tonight:
soon to be my life story–
sweet stuffing, hard shell
ten minutes of rain
won’t wash away the fires
in mountains, in souls
a cake that collapsed,
a zucchini casserole
without zucchini
if only these were clouds
not fucking with my haiku syllable count
but actually pouring down rain instead of smoke
if only we didn’t have cactus along the Front Range
to remind us of
how harshly we’ve parched this Earth
how we’ve stolen the sky with fires
how these are not clouds trying to hide
the ever-present sun
water still as ice
while wildfires choke sky
with climate change breath
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