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.
One of my favorites! Love "filagree swirl."
ReplyDeleteEmptyness 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.
ReplyDeleteA 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."
ReplyDeletePerfect! I love this one!
ReplyDeletecakes of ashes, bonedust.
ReplyDeleteand '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. . .
ReplyDeleteL, 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."
ReplyDeleteWith love and admiration,
Jean