Little snow-capped pillows
sweet peaks of flour and pecans
a private range of afternoon treats
an adventure to scale, nibble by nibble
a pocket of secret ingredients
a family heirloom
devoured with pleasure
by my grateful, greedy mouth
When it’s warm, my daughter and I go to Papi’s Pies for our Wednesday writing date. Papi’s is one of the best things that has happened to our town: a bold statement, yes, but I’m not alone in my adoration. Not only is the food delicious, not only is it a refreshingly pleasing place to hang out, not only are they avid supporters of the arts (usually, as in before last spring when we we were made to quit gathering in groups), but it’s also owned and run by people who are dear to me. I am so thankful that neither the people or the place have become casualties of recent events.
Yesterday, while enjoying the cookies pictured above, I read a prompt in Poemcrazy to look at things in a new way, and / or write a poem about food. So, here you have the result. Also I like writing poems about food. And I like food, possibly too much. . . . .
If you ever visit my town, let’s meet at Papi’s ❤