|He was born one icy December morning
In the happy chaos of our kitchen.
A bubbling, sticky, oozy mess;
A promise of future baked riches.Every day I tended to him
Made sure he was just warm enough
But not too warm.And Ian delivered:
Misshapen loaves with tooth-cracking crusts;
Rolls of unexpectedly delicious
Even a dozen lumpy bagels.
In other kitchens,
I measure out a cup,
Tomorrow he will again rise to the occasion.
|A journalist for 10 years, Fran now works in marketing and PR in the education sector and writes as much as she can. Older writings can be found here: mightier-than-the-sword.blogspot.com|