Cinnamon Rolls
in conjunction
your fingers move across my lips
licking sugar
sweet rolls do bake
the intense heat in the kitchen
perspiration falling
an intermingling
the rising rolls look to be ready
beeping starts
sugar and spice cover the floor
Poetry | Stories | Photography
Cinnamon Rolls
in conjunction
your fingers move across my lips
licking sugar
sweet rolls do bake
the intense heat in the kitchen
perspiration falling
an intermingling
the rising rolls look to be ready
beeping starts
sugar and spice cover the floor
Saucepans of stainless steel sit within the kitchen cupboard. They lament the days when their forms connected with the stovetop often and tasty meals were prepared within their confines.
Lately, they seem so sad. Are the saucepans sad, or am I sad?
What should I do to help these poor objects reach their full potential? Is it me that is the problem, for I do not cook anymore and buy too much sushi?
These questions fill me with a sense of excitement as I reach for the cookbooks; a cake for one is a bad idea, but then one can be eaten for breakfast each day.
I reach for the saucepans and smash them in the air for luck.
Then it begins.
Running and jumping,
banging and clanging,
mumbling and humming,
singing and spinning.
The oven is hot,
the cake takes shape,
the saucepans tell me they are happy,
and we celebrate with a glass of champagne.