It's that time again. Time when I lose all sense of proportion and sanity and agree to write a poem a day following prompts exactly as given by our fearless leaders (aka Ren the Klutz! and Fyn. I may not survive. But I will do it anyway, mostly because I can't imagine anyone having this much agony fun without me.
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children
entering the same
cycle of enthusiasm while
parents yawn—I can almost
see them, as I scroll
their pictures on my phone—
Germany. Alabama. California.
the dancers are different,
the dance is the same.
Haha, I’ll make you some Rhyssa. Pasties were my Dad’s favorite and I learned to make them very early. I too love them but they are a lot of work to make. My husband never appreciated them which I could never understand. But consequently I don’t make them often. Only if my brother is coming for dinner. Both of my grandmothers made them, and my Mom and me. I’d say i have an old family recipe but I’ve never had a written recipe, I just make them and they are so good. Just like your poem.
I’ll have to invite my brother for dinner and make pasties soon. You have my mouth watering.
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