Cookie-Dough

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I come back from work, worn out and spent. Each night, I wake up mid-sleep, as if I had never gone to bed.

I walk to the kitchen and start pulling out cans and jars. My eyes don’t even have to see where my hands are going anymore, I remember what bottle lies on which stack just as I know the alphabet.

I follow your recipe to the dot.

The same amount of flour, a cup full of sugar, little chips of chocolate hidden amidst the dough like gems in sand.

But I could never bake them like you did. So by the time I finish, the house starts to feel very empty again, without you and your sweet-smelling cookie dough.

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LITTLE THINGS

egg-crate

Dear June,

Some mornings I wake up only for you.

Thank you for embracing me without hurting my bones. For keeping the refrigerator stocked, filled to the brim with eggs.

For letting me walk you down the altar, weak and frail.

For forgoing not one, but two childhoods, yours and Susan’s, in my care.

I know living with me and my cancer is difficult, but thank you for never complaining about this untimely guest.

I will love you in life and in death, and I will try, for as long as possible, to be your

Mom

 

My Dear Bird,

My dear bird,

Fly, 

I have built us a home

With wood, dry leaves and marbles

Windows that look out to the sea,

And a backyard laced by mountains  

There is minty tea, a warm fireplace,    

For your tired feet my ottoman waits.  

When the future weighs you down, dove, 

When past ghosts your mind, come,  

I built this warm cottage 

On a timeless soil,  

My dear bird,

Fly.

#introtopoetry