Bland

As I mix the batter I map
the colors out in my head.
Blue and red and green and yellow
for one, plus lime and orange and rose and aqua
for another, with a little purple and neon green
for the third, thrown in for good luck.

The fourth will remain untainted.
Which is ironic considering
the man who will eat it.

I’m brought back to moments
when Nate was here and we sat
cross-legged on the floor, meticulously
squeezing just the right amount of coloring
into the otherwise virgin concoction. The bowls
rested on the green carpet and the yellow walls
surrounded our heads.

The kitchen matched the cakes.
Which was ironic considering
it was a kitchen.

This time is different.
Nate is not here and the kitchen
is not the same. The carpet has been replaced
by a rich wood, the yellow walls are now creme.
I am alone, mixing and scheming. Alone with the
kitchen. The gorgeous kitchen, with its new floor and
walls and cabinets. I hate it.

The cakes turn out wonderfully.
Which is ironic considering
the kitchen is so bland.

angel food cake

*  *  *  *  *


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