When Death Is Meringue

When death is meringue

When death is merely the
goldfinch gone elsewhere

When death is on holiday
or too booked up

I shall go down to the sea
like boats do and sail

Photo: simplyrecipes.com


Perhaps August Doesn’t Know

baking a moment dot com

The humidity drowns out flowers,
the gem birds, the jewel songs – gone,
steamed vegetables – still growing,

Perhaps August has forgotten how
we suffer – breathing in the hot rain,
our garments sticking to their battles,

Then there’s a B&B in New Hampshire
that measures the temperature in
steaming cheddar biscuits eaten in A/C,

And at night, there is a down comforter
for each guest, and the hot water bill
goes through the roof every summer.

Perhaps August doesn’t know it’s winter
at Barthe & Bramble B&B, maybe we
just might stay ’til the leaves,

‘Til the first frost, when it’s safe
to come out, maybe we move in, maybe
we make ’em all three dog nights – this
summer’s end, this bubbling peach
cobbler season.


Photo: bakingamoment.com


For those of you missing loved ones…

I buy things I don’t need because
I need you. A fountain pen, spicy
mustard, a forestry magazine.
I walked into the tobacco store

at the mall, smelled the smoked
cheeses at Ogelvie’s, wore three
different colognes home, but you
didn’t appear. It’s raining, pouring

milk over rice cereal, I’m missing
you. I fell in love with you next
Tuesday when it snowed. And
you let me cut into the line because

“a cookbook is urgent…” like a
second soldering iron, a heavy bag
of peat and saffron.