No Tarte Bakery
quarter by eighth
into cake of ashes,
bonedust. Spoon
minus table- and tea-.
Unhinged springform,
amorphous bundt. Sugar
dissolved, rippled
down drain. Powder, soda
whisked away. Praise
cookie no more,
praise nothing.
Once pie bubbled
golden with crowns --
not again. Rattle the lock,
lose the key. No taste,
no scent, no
filigree swirl
of icing. Not
a crumb.
© T. Clear
More Tuesday Poems can be found here.
7 comments:
One of my favorites! Love "filagree swirl."
Emptyness can be many times the very reason to exist, e.g. a cup, a window or door, making it function, like a promise in the making, like those cookies you so beautiful wrote about.
A wonderful Tuesday for you.
barefoot navigation
Oh, how this poem jumps with loss, and you bring together so much you know about baking, ingredients and implements: "Unhinged springform."
Perfect! I love this one!
cakes of ashes, bonedust.
and 'unhinged springform' brought to mind another who is unhinged. sigh.
a beautiful poem of loss, T.
I am touched by the very many ways you honour your loved one(s), T. . .
L, Claire
Thank you, T. Your poem brings comfort--as did the cake and pie, but this has lasting power. I will savor this poem; it speaks to my heart where currently there is "no taste, no scent, no filigree swirl of icing. Not a crumb."
With love and admiration,
Jean
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