Raindrop Cake



creeping down my bones,

across my dough punched hands.

I am feeble, blocked

by alien phrases, in recipes

that should be written out by hand,

that should console me,

but flow as foreign objects

cached in web fonts.

Mizu shingen mochi, the language of

an elder with dementia, or a twin,

not part of any glossary I know.

The punch of reminiscence,

a kitchen, hot with steam and

women curved along a stove,

impassioned with the fragrance of the farm.

The tricky Raindrop Cake instructions,

clinical and rich with jargon,

fade now, disintegrate before me,

the codes of comfort food

beseeching me instead.


Daily Prompt: Tricky

Image: Is the Raindrop Cake the Next Cult Dessert? on Slate



3 replies »

  1. Love the sentiment in the poem but also challenged by the raindrop cake – have had to hunt down the recipe…thanks for the cue…


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