That's embarrassing to admit.
So here is my one and only sort-of poem. Our prompt was to describe your life metaphorically along the lines of "life is like a box of chocolates." I think.
My Life is Sarah's Birthday Cake
The recipe is old, but good
From the 1959 edition of the Betty Crocker Cookbook,
Found in an antique store and
Inscribed on the inside cover "to Georgie, from Mom, for her
Wedding shower, September 1982."
I've made it so many times,
I'm comfortable with changes.
An extra half teaspoon of vanilla,
One more egg white.
Now, I spray the 2 eight-inch pans with Baker's Joy
Instead of rubbing them down with butter then
Tossing around a few teaspoons of flour to coat.
Sift. Cream. Fold.
Into the pans, into the oven.
Out of the oven, out of the pans.
Let it rest. Let it cool. Let it be.
For about an hour.
Then get busy.
The party is soon.
The party is always soon.
Beat the shit out of two sticks of butter and a block of cream cheese.
Add vanilla, sift in a half a bag of powdered sugar
And turn the mixer up too high so powdered sugar flies
Into each and every crevice of your kitchen.
Split the layers in two, because fancy is everything.
Set the first layer on your favorite fancy cake plate,
Spread with buttercream, jam and repeat. And repeat.
The slather the whole cake with buttercream, smoothing and
Filling in holes and gaps and smoothing and filling.
Top with a crown of raspberries.
Because fancy.
Leave room for candles.
White ones are best, but any combination of
Colors, scavenged from the back of the silverware drawer
Will do
As long as there are candles.
Sing, clap, blow out the little flames.
Eat, laugh.
Wait a year and do it all again.
