Grandma Low's Doughnuts
In total darkness flesh rests
and at first light rises.
Sky blue eyes search
bibles and cookbooks for direction.
Bless cheeks with pink powder blush.
Punch dough down.
Dress fingers in white flour dust.
Invoke a flame.
She commands all the elements,
motions us to stand and watch
at her tall stove-pot.
We peer over the edge
into galaxies of hot oil.
Planets pop and bob into life.
Aroma undoes us and
time floats hellishly slow.
Copyright © Tamra Amato | Year Posted 2009
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