Day Twenty Eight

 

Golden sunshine dripping lemon curd.

Whip butter, egg and acid juice into dutiful place

See – watch my hand capable of this domestic miracle.

I deserve sweetness spread on bread.

Clever hands bonding the disparate.

 

Don’t think I can’t see you there

lined up and ghostly – applauding

my small miracle.

Gravely we nod womanly heads

I set my lever – flex my whisking muscles to move the world.

 

 

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