Sunday, May 16, 2010


This poem was originally submitted for my uni paper Creative Writing.  This is the revised version.

My ingredients cluster on the bench
like spectators at an accident scene –
mouths gaping, eyes staring, unable to look away.
One by one, they go in the bowl:
silky flour, darkly rich sugar, eggs like eyes
and ginger, the sassy redhead.
The harsh buzzing of the electric mixer
cuts the air like a curse.
I knead the dough, gently massaging,
then forcefully pounding.
As I cut the shapes, I arrange the men
in neat rows, like soldiers
preparing for battle.  In the oven they go,
only to emerge, victorious.
Now the gingerbread men
sit between us in a pile.  He takes one first.
I stare, gaping, as he bites off the legs,
“So he can’t run away,” he says.
He laughs as I bite the head off mine,
“To put him out of his misery,” I say.

No comments:

Post a Comment