It’s hard to write when I’m lonely,
when I don’t know what I’m waiting for
and Christmas music reminds me we are enveloped in the Spirit world,
a complex structure of particles too small to eyewitness individually,
but I’m sure each one dances.
Cake is in the plans for tonight,
from scratch, along with cookies.
The act of combining ingredients that form a whole
not resembling most of its parts amazes,
humbles, delights with each bite.
Behind poinsettia leaves in the middle of the table,
I check on young boys at play,
strategically arranging two-inch ships to battle.
The greatest effort, the most fun is in setup.
A brief game, it is hoped, will be played kindly,
but boys forget the point and argue,
just like grownups.
Baking will pull me in all the way.
With each cupful added, each turn of the wrist
I will reach deeper, pull up another bit of clarity,
unearth a bit of sadness, a spark of joy I skimmed through
when a memory took place in real time.
And when the smell of warm chocolate chip cookies
begins to fill the house, loneliness will fade.
Why, I do not know.