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.

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