Weight
Flour dusted fingers
Measure from memory
Family favorite
Pound cakes made
A thousand times
I level the cup ignoring
the pain traveling arm to shoulder
Sifting dry ingredients
Dusting off expectations
Losing count
eyeing the scarred mixing bowl
mentally calculating weighty things
the mound of white
keeps quiet
Making me guess
at all this heart
Must need to say
Take heed!
There is a war going on
Inside its precious chambers
Life is under siege
Squeezing me
Between present and past
The preheating is over
The oven timer beckons
insisting on its charge —
()..()()…()()…()()()()()..()..()()…()()…()…()…()………….
So much left unfinished
I muse idly from my place
on the floor
My cheekbone rests hard
against dull parquet squares
as if I’ve got all the time
in the world yet
Unable to comply
The buzzer grows petulant
I spy bits of food,
a bread bag twist tie
between oven and floor
Weightless cobwebs
and measured regrets
crush my chest
too much it seems
has been left to chance
- Inspired by a Writer’s Digest poetry prompt: ‘in medias res’. * Thank you kindly for reading! Any feedback if much appreciated! SK
*For today’s prompt, write an ‘in medias res’ poem. In medias res means in the middle of the narrative. Or think of it as starting in the middle of the story instead of at the very beginning or very end. Like at lunch time or half way through eating your soup. — WD
Copyright, 2021 S.L. Knight. All Rights Retained.
sandyknightcom.wordpress.com 