I read and you are irritated.
It smells poignant. The air swells and is heady.
Your perception is clouded.
The eggs have been cracked and you drop them
one by one
into the batter.
Mixer blades turn in patient fashion.
You forgot to put on your apron.
I remind you. Flour is layered over your shirt.
Your lips twist into a broken smile.
A soft splintered laugh escapes.
I open a bottle of wine and pour us both a glass.
The wind chill outside warms the house.
I hate the smell of smoke on you
I hand you your drink.
Attempt to brush off the flour.
It drifts about idly between us.
Fogs our confusion.
There are little miracles playing.
Amiably with violent voices. Sunlight
brightens the counter.
You pat my cheek and tell me I need a shave.
Into metal pans you pour the batter.
In the oven the cakes
will rise prophetically.
I never want to bake again
We will escape then
pack up our marvels in our coat pockets
see how the moon sinks
under a winter sky.
You blush. Brush away my words. Finish your wine.
Place the glass in the gluttonous sink.
Don’t be an ass
our marvels are too large
for coat pockets.