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at home, baking.
by Meghan Helmichi've come to a standard
realization, a hungry
knowledge of the static
in your breathing.
a complete disregard
of recipe and step-skipping.
these little bits of secret
i roll into mounds of dough,
spread thin on the pan
and slip quietly into heat,
searing lines into the tops
that turn white and wrinkle.
they will all waiver, rise,
fall back to the sheet
in perfect two-dimensional
curves. be met with frantic
fingers and dirty half-moons
that hover just on the edges. 04/04/2007 Posted on 04/04/2007
Copyright © 2024 Meghan Helmich
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 04/04/07 at 11:04 PM this is a fantastic piece, but it does feel a little unfinished to me, and at this point i wish that i was good at offering suggestions, but i can't because, well, i suck. i really do like what you have so far. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 04/06/07 at 11:56 PM Yeh - maybe you could relate the consuming passion of end user to a satiation in terms of breath modulation? I know - I suck even more :) |
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