Creative Space

Cookie Crumbles

Cookie Crumbles

I thought I thought something there
by presuming a truth as if static / fixed
As if something were broken,
needed fixing more and I (I)
knew how to do it.

As if we were moving to baking
before the mixing was done …
A slice of comeuppance.
A raw humble pie.

Dark, slow molasses moves
into spaces in the recipe that
I did not know were there.
As long as there is movement
there is hope.

What is forwards and back?
Up and down?
Who am I asking?
Who could possibly know?
So there I am
thinking I know something.

Feeling horribly humbled
as the cookie crumbles
And I’m not really all that
full of myself, I say, but
it’s bogus and
bullshit anyway.

I smell it this time
because someone
pushed my face
in the sugar.

so, when I am
feeling whole and broken
even wholly broken
I’m getting closer
To the sweet spot
of me