Evening

I am brushing butter and garlic across slices of bakery bread,
but also resting my cheek in the crook of your arm
a thousand miles from here.

There is steam from a green ceramic pot
in my kitchen with sunflower fields in ruffles at the windows,
but there is also your skin as warm as a sunned quilt.

I am leaning for your lips like a willow over water,
but also standing on Italian tile
with a plate forgotten in my hand like a dove from a distant dream.
_____

for Sunday Muse # 90.

Early Evening

There are gardens
on the moon,
bathed in borrowed light.

Below, 
there is Earth,
and you in your kitchen,
boning a chicken.

The chicken awakes here,
stunned and multiplied,
become an eagle.

Look up,
darling of my heart,
preparer of southern concoctions.

You'll see an eagle 
pretending itself bees in profusion,
telling love to the flowers

in gardens 
on the moon.
_____

 

Michigan Apple Pie

This morning, there was
a cup and a quarter of flour, with its nubbly surface reminding me
of the old-fashioned patterned white bedspread in our room.

There were
ten tablespoons of cold butter, such a sweet yellow,
like November sun above the newly bare trees outside our kitchen.

Funny how a twelve-inch circle of dough
can fit into a nine inch pie pan, by rolling and unfurling it
with the pin. Did you know how your smile captivated me, and still does?

I like a lattice top--
there is an art to weaving the strips one over the other,
inviting and concealing, both. I say "I love you" every day, then hold my peace.

Right now, I can smell the apples
in the oven, and some still in the green bowl I always use,
sliced and ready, but too many. Still, I'm in no hurry to put them away.

Tonight, there will be pie--
you will have seconds, then smile and say how full you are.
That is your favorite moment, but as I rinse dishes before coming to bed,

I'll be thinking of morning, and how the kitchen was clean, quiet and ready.
_______

For Play It Again Toads #23. I used Bjorn's "Time Travel" challenge, which asks for a poem using past, present and future tenses. 

Sugar

When sugar burns,

The baking stops.

No longer white and flowing from the cup,

It turns hard and black,

Like stone.

Lips so sweet

Can also lie;

What's warming can wound--

Much in a kitchen can cut,

But burns are the most painful.

Though you bind them, they blister,

And heal only by slow degrees--

Like sun crossing the cutting board, left dumb and blank as a woman who believed.

_________

Recipe

A kitchen is a fine place to hatch a plot.

I will be your confederate--

The most agreeable evil

You ever met.

The sun falls through the curtains

Like fingertips on skin,

As we bring out the magicks--

Sugar,

Flour,

Cinnamon.

We work as if we were zealots

In basements, printing up pamphlets,

For the purblind left, or the palsied right--

Except that we are subversives

Of a different stripe.

We will lull them,

Make them lazy--

Say there's no more,

Make them crazy;

Then, when they are helpless,

We shall withdraw and decide our demands--

They shall be many,

And capricious;

Not from need, these wicked plans, but simply because

We can.

______

Art by Pablo Picasso

Come On In My Kitchen

Come on in my kitchen

Dontcha stand outside

Come on in my kitchen

Good things inside

My joy and pride

C'mon.

Some dishes are meant to simmer slowly

Others must be quickly seared

As if the skillet's touch

Were almost too much

Look here...

You are so sweet

Kiss me

Kiss me

Feelin it from my eyelashes

Down to my feet.

The afternoon has gone late and hot

Go on, slip out my back door

See you at the sunrise

Baby, never mind

The sugar on the counter top

The flour on the floor.

__________

For Bice, as always. No crappy plastic measuring cups were used in the creation of this poem.

The Fretful Cake

A cake is worried.

The cake has fallen in love with the cutest, golden-brownest, most irresistible cinnamon apple pie ever.

When the cake sees the pie,

All her sparkler candles go off at once!

And yet,

The cake is worried.

"Once, I was trapped inside a dark cardboard box

On a shelf in aisle five of Mitzi's Food Mart on 9 Mile Road!

I was separated from myself by little bags and packets!

And I was

*blush*

For sale."

The cake thinks of her beloved pie and glazes over with helpless love.

"Darling pie! I am so sweet for you!" she thinks, dizzy with devotion.

"Will she understand," frets the lovestruck cake,

"That I came from mere powder and goo?

Will she overlook

That I needed eggs added?"

The cake, woozy with desire for the sweet cinnamon apple pie,

Never stops to consider

That her beloved was once in pieces too,

Hanging on trees in the rain

For anyone to pick?

Someone sets the cake and pie side by side on a pretty red and white checked table cloth.

Seeking a snack,

A mischievous yellow lab noses the pie over into the cake,

So that they are mooshed together.

"She kissed me!" exults the happy cake,

Who never worries about anything again.

_______________

Kitchen Magic

Leek and potato soup

is

hot and creamy

Fresh-baked bread

is

warm and dreamy

The soup seems made

for a blue-and-white bowl--

The bread sighs steam

when broken apart;

Bring them together,

dip one in the other--

Be still, my beating heart!

_____________________

Dinner For Two

I will lay out what I plan to use,

Just as if

Pyrex and stainless steel

Were Chinese silk

And lace.

Behold my wiles.

I love tomatoes

Curved and ripe--

They bear the red of passion,

On their skins

And in their hearts.

My thorough fingers

Slip the layers from an onion,

Like your dress I'll peel away;

Before such pale nakedness

I will sometimes weep unbidden.

I will bake some firm potatoes

Until they slowly soften--

I will leave them steaming helplessly

Inside their humble skins.

I will lay a cut of meat

In a spicy marinade--

Steeping 'til tender and savory;

I will make it know that its only purpose

Is to bring a moan upon the tasting.

I will set a pretty table;

Wrap your silver in a napkin

And a little knotted ribbon.

I will watch you loose the tie,

As if forks and spoons

Were my arms

And wrists.

Mine is the kitchen with the steamy windows,

The gingerbread house on the right;

Arrive on time with a bottle of wine--

Bring your appetite.

______________________________________

Bake Until Golden, Sweeten To Taste

I searched the sun

Which was the color of a sugar cookie,

But in the end,

The day hoarded you for itself--

Leaving my face tilted in the window

Like an empty plate.

So,

I hid my name in a honey jar;

Did you think

A thing as simple as a sweet tooth

Could sing to you like that?

I have many recipes,

But just a single sweetheart;

And I can use many wiles

All for a common cause.

Follow your craving,

I'll be waiting...

Come to my kitchen, now Love, now.

I will distract you with temptations,

And when your eyelids fall to savor,

You'll never notice

The softly closing door.

________________________________