she wipes flour from her apron
and her heart breaks a bit more
crumbling
with each new batch of cookies
prepped and baked
(No Valentine's Day cookies this year)
With each loaf wrapped
her tears add salt to dough
the flavor of lost love
she wonders what will become of her
as butter folds itself
into flour
hiding
melting away
until nothing is left to moisten the dough
Icing glides out onto surface
slick and sweet
as she frosts
white hot anger
of betrayal
knives at the ready
she cannot touch
she fears
like little lives
torn out of a comic book
blades infused with grief
she turns back to flour, sugar, butter
and folds them
over and over again.
Jan 31, 2012
Jan 31, 2012 at 1:14 PM UTC
she wipes flour from her apron
and her heart breaks a bit more
crumbling
with each new batch of cookies
prepped and baked
(No Valentine's Day cookies this year)
With each loaf wrapped
her tears add salt to dough
the flavor of lost love
she wonders what will become of her
as butter folds itself
into flour
hiding
melting away
until nothing is left to moisten the dough
Icing glides out onto surface
slick and sweet
as she frosts
white hot anger
of betrayal
knives at the ready
she cannot touch
she fears
like little lives
torn out of a comic book
blades infused with grief
she turns back to flour, sugar, butter
and folds them
over and over again.
copyright/All rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2012
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