from somewhere around August of 2008

untitled draft

 

last call has come & gone
and now you're home alone
again

you take your shoes off by the door,
undress in the bathroom
slip into sweatpants,
and old t-shirt,
and an apron.

it's nearly 3 a.m.
and here you are
reaching for mixing bowls and measuring spoons.

lining up your
flour
brown sugar
vanilla

you turn on the oven
set it to 350 degrees
and you begin

the comfort factor in repetitive acts
should never be undervalued
eggs crack open in predictable patterns

besides, you know that happiness
smells like
home-made cinnamon rolls,
banana bread,
chocolate chip cookies

you bake in the middle of the night because
sleep is the stranger you were too proud
to take home
because the rolling pin feels like a friend
under your palms
because settling is too easy to think about
if you can't find something
worthwhile to keep yourself occupied.

before your last lover left you,
you were satisfied with Wonder Bread & Oreos
you were content with the occasional cake-mix adventure
you never stopped to consider the quality of the finished product
or the care you needed to take in order
to be sure you got what it was you were really hungry for.

now, you measure and mix
and knead
and know

you're making something
you are involved in a way
you'd forgotten that you should be.

there are millions of recipes to try
and all the time in the world

and most nights,
that's enough
to get you through
to the next step
to the next great uncertainty

until then,
be reassured by the knowledge that

if you are careful
and patient
and you follow the directions

this time, things will turn out
more or less
the way you expect them to.