a hellish week (year)
but we are nearing the end
and it’s so damn sweet
always the baker
coming up with concoctions
to sweeten our lives
rolled in this meringue:
apples, mascarpone cream,
burnt honey. ’20.
baked in this Roulade:
my student’s home-raised hen eggs
ready to be whipped
folded in this bake:
some precious moments of peace
so hard sought, well earned
masked in this meringue:
a year of bittersweet loss
melted into joy
he’s no idea
what he’s got himself into
with these crazy girls
cookies are cookies.
we will cut, bake, decorate.
’cause it’s what we do.
arms, metal, ginger:
what is a holiday scent?
molasses. that’s it.
and soft-spun sugar
ready to perfect Christmas
with gingerbread sweets.
working for love
(sometimes it doesn’t pay back)
but we always try
wrong in every way
and a crusty cookie bite
just saved by ice cream
the garden goes on
far into September nights
when i make salsa
and another quiche
made by my girl while canning
consumed my evening
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
zucchini tonight:
soon to be my life story–
sweet stuffing, hard shell
a cake that collapsed,
a zucchini casserole
without zucchini
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