Sunday, April 9, 2017

Sunday Poem

Baked In

There is a sadness baked into existence.
Without it there’s no flavor.
You’d never know what to savor
Or how to wait for joy’s recrudescence

Your cupboard is a cage
Where it sits in darkness
Next to the cinnamon, pepper and sage.
Take what you need, cook your own catharsis

A pinch here, a dash there
Taste it as you stir the mixture
You always add more as time goes along
There’s no limit, you can’t do it wrong.
Some gets added when you turn your head---
It’s serendipity!
Never was a written recipe
Try to recall what mother once said

Put it in the oven and let it bake.
There’s no timer, it’s imprecise.
No way to know when the swirl of sadness coalesces
With the rest and then rises.
A taste you can only imagine will have to suffice

Look outside in the early pre-dawn, dark as sable,
Rows of homes with kitchen lights on.
All of us awake, anxiously waiting at tables
For our cakes to get done


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