Saturday, March 30, 2013

Cake Work

I tie the strings behind my back
and go to work, measuring sugar, 
letting the butter melt, grating the thin
yellow skin off of lemons, 
mixing it all into small good things. 

Then, the small good things I come home to, 
after a long day at the bakery: 
a pair of Persian buttercups, the hope of new
tomato plants in the ground, 
root vegetables wedged and roasting. 

There's so much I want to give back
having been loved so heartily. 
My palms ache with this want. 
The best I can do is press them together
in thanks. My offering this prayer--

and a stolen piece of cake. 

1 comment:

  1. Lovely. Poem as prayer, as gratitude. My favorite part is the leap from stanza 2 to 3.