The Baker

In a warm, small kitchen

in the city.

flour dusting

every counter,

every utensil.

My hands are caked in sticky batter

the oven light fli ii ii ck k k ers.

Measuring spoons,

and cups

scattered like

c

o

n

f

e

t

t

i

in a parade,

discarded

having served their purpose.

of perfectly gauging

every

single

ingredient.

My hair has frizzed,

curling

every

which

way,

wrapped up in a messy

bun.

The timer dings dings dings

the smell of something sweet,

and rich,

and warm

drifting through the house

rousing every preoccupied mind,

pulling their attention to the

smell of

cozy solace.

Standing in the

center

of this chaos,

this spectacular,

healing,

chaos

is the baker.

The architect of delicious offerings

for the taste buds

and dazzling every sense.

This talent,

for watering mouths

and electrifying every olfactory,

was discovered out of

necessity.

As a shield,

a distraction,

from the pain of

finding

myself.

…again…

From the pressure:

1. to define myself

2. to choose a single path

3. to decide everything all at once

A shield from the the loss of

lives loved

…still loved…

…forever loved…

This talent nurtured

molded into a

GROWING passion

a passion for creating

for pouring

love

effort

time

skill

into every morsel.

The recipes crafted in the kitchen

are recipes of

me.

Journal entries.

Road maps

leading me to my happiest place

[not a place]

a state of mind.

A sense of calm

of belonging

of freedom

a place of self love

and comfort.

I am the baker,

and I am

HAPPY!