Friday, February 21, 2014

Assignment 11: Concrete Poem

Brenna Thummler

When the sun rises, he tells me to eat pancakes.
Bands of buttery light melt through my windows
And lead me down the staircase
To the old iron griddle,
Still speckled with batter from yesterday’s breakfast,
Or perhaps the one before.
I pour a new coat of the thick substance
And watch it seep,
Sizzle, spread,
Smelling the strong aromas of family:
Warmth blended with sugar.
Then watch it bubble,
Bake, Brown
Until I’m flipping them over and flipping out,
Ready with a platter bigger than the tabletop.
Here come the short stacks of flapjacks soaked in a maple monsoon.
Here come the doughy delights drowned in butter, sprinkled with cinnamon.
Here come the gooey pastries I can never go a day without.
And in a couple bites they’re gone.
I think the sun’s telling me to eat pancakes for lunch.

No comments:

Post a Comment