Baker

No one has ever said a cross word about her.

Candor lifts out and floats above

the sweetest lines

complements adored.

You whisk them up in sugary batter

in a bright orange bowl sitting

on a sunlit counter.

She walks with you
through pots and pans 
hanging from the ceiling

a folded flower petal

hugging a dusty yellow stem

waiting for an answer

not expecting a thing

like before.

Her gentle mouth,
no longer idle,

devours the metal spoon

until there is nothing left.

© 2013 d.c.p.