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like pastry
when I am over-
handled
I can get tough
even when I tried
to be nice
for you to walk away
in a cloud, smiling
instead of
how you look now

Confections

I roll out the dough
sugar cookies
dusted with cinnamon
your thoughts miles away
I watch your eyes glaze over
like spun sugar

I have ruined the sauce
tears dripping into the pot
like last year
when my heart split in two
draining out
into February

Roll me in five spice powder
drop me in hot broth
so the essence of me
will fill your sinuses
and you cannot forget
how hard you might try

Your skin was like sugar
and the cocoa dust
left on the plate, and
when you vanished
I wept over truffles
and your skin

bittersweet

On finding old cherry tomatoes in the back of the refrigerator

Why do I feel sad, pulling them from the back with some resistance from a bit of old green Jell-O gluing their container to the clear glass shelf

their red firm flesh when I bought them, cylindrical and perfect; I paid twice what they were worth in order to have that pop-into-my-mouth sweet satisfaction–how I don’t bite with teeth but compress between tongue and roof of the mouth until

pop

the juices wash over tongue and teeth and slide down the throat–

and now I see the puckered old skin and raisin-like rind, and I almost cry for what is lost what was and what could have been

in a salad, or sitting on a plate plump, ripe, and ready for tasting

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We barely talk, lately
the screens seeing you
more than I

If I wrap my body in bacon
perhaps you could be enticed–
your kryptonite

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chopping celery
the broth simmers
I have made this soup for you
since we were 25
will you still eat it
when we are old–