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.