Wednesday, 11 January 2012


the generosity of greased parchment, stuck the sheet to the pan,
stuck it all to the roof of my mouth, hell to the thought of it,
the sugar will melt, but now it is like sand, and i didn't know to avoid salt,
that sticks to the hand, nor did I know the merits
of some crystal over another,
or that cake should be springy and not cloy,
I did not know black from brown,
or a hat from a cake stand,
amateurishly I check the oven,
again and again, I fumble at nothing,
I always make at least one,
rudimentary mistake,
when I bake.

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