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.