Cookies

Years ago, we had those special days

When Mom came home in a beautiful mood

A rare occasion to be taken hold of with greed

Slender fingers pulled in the direction of the kitchen

Slathered with bubbles, rinsed well and smooth

Aprons tied taut and hairs in a bun

Ingredients poured from shelves, stacked in a row

The old secret recipe, folded with care

Showing sweet battle scars of previous endeavors

Our utensils collide with the spin of the bowl

We follow old steps in a dance still unknown

Blindly going along with what we are told

We finish the tune and clump our work up

Set on the metal tomb to be slid

Carefully, gently into the heat of the oven

We all rememebr these steps

The chaotic but carefully constructed dance

But do we remember the aftermath?

The patient, tearing, desperate wait

We worked so hard and wished to reap the rewards

The benefits of our hard, trying labors

Yet we are forced to sit mere feet from beauty

Mandated to stay and wait within small reach

This desperate trying feeling seems familiar

You my dear

Are like cookies to me