
Maple butter syrup
splits
on buttermilk pancakes
Sunday’s pinch of magic formed
tradition
it happened as it did
each time
I’d tie my thick brown hair back
hands ready with fork and knife
hovering...
that first cut - oozing, sticky core
and I'd devour the fluff
a flash of light on canines
complete.
Some nights,
a full moon
I have them for dinner
as dessert
you call it nonsense
and I make them, grumpy
you oblige,
eat them still
I chuckled inward
in the deepest layer right in the middle of that stack
are air bubbles
I've held on to that cushion
of air
never a bad memory.
About the Creator
Michele Nampalli
This space is breath for my sensitivity. The poems come fully formed. I've known for quite some time now that my art is about receiving more than creation...its the most natural way I know to process my inner world. It started when I was 7.



Comments (1)
This feels so comforting and nostalgic. Rich appeal to the senses, good job!