Micropoetry Monday: Contemplation

Reflections, Saint Patrick's Day

Liza Beth Higginbotham
traded in her name badge
for a nameplate,
her apron for a tweed suit.
She chose to be called Elizabeth.
It was in this way that she made
a name for herself,
only to marry an even bigger name.
It was then,
& only then,
that who she was once only mattered
because of who she now mattered to.

She spent the days
with her hands in flour,
her nights with her head in words
so that her cookies tasted like paper,
& her books tasted like cookies;
she found that lunchtime afternoons
were her sweet spot,
for she could eat her words.

Tamira stargazed
to look at the past,
& gazed at her child
to look at the future.
They were glorious,
for they were made
of the same stuff—
the dust of the heavens,
with the breath of life into
sculptures more resilient
than glass.

The Baker’s Manifesto

Betty Botter was a lousy cook,
but a swell baker,
for working with butter, sugar, flour, & eggs
was easy as pie,
a piece of cake,
a ginger snap even.
Throw chocolate chips into the mix,
& she was unstoppable.

The feel of raw meat made her sick,
& whoever referred to their kiddo
as Bacon or Hamburger?
It was always Cupcake or Sweetie Pie,
just as wretched men were pigs,
women, cows,
& dumbasses of both sexes were sheep—
mooing, oinking, bleating meat.

What’s more,
the smart cookies knew when
to shut their pieholes & cakeholes,
& stick a baguette in them,
for it was better to eat carbs
than to part your lips
& say something stupid.

Window Shopping

So November has went into hibernation, and it’s back to the poem-a-week challenge, thank heavens.

Here is one of my more lighthearted pieces in which I combined two things I love:  shopping and baking.  Enjoy!


I wasn’t even shopping for a husband
that day in Dayside,
but I found one—
so fetching in his baker’s cap,
like a special-order nutcracker.

He wasn’t brand-new,
but he still worked;
he’d been on the shelf awhile,
but, like flour or dandruff,
he could be dusted off.
He wasn’t perfect,
but I would be the sandpaper
that would smooth his rough edges.
I would make him mine.

He wasn’t on clearance,
so that was attractive to me—
he wasn’t even for sale,
but he talked himself into it.
True, he had never been bought,
but neither had he ever been returned.

I decided to take him home,
feeling I got a bargain,
so I married him,
getting a little bun in the oven as a rebate,
a bun who came out smelling buttery sweet.

Though there have been times
I’ve wanted to return him,
I cannot,
for I threw away the receipt
when I said, “I do.”
He wouldn’t quite fit anyone else now
(at least without much reworking),
and neither would I,
so I’ll keep him for the rest of his life
(or mine).

I go to play with my little loaf of bread,
now rising and still rising,
with the pretty pink tie at the top,
as I happily await the next little bun,
made with the same, all-natural ingredients,
and yet unique and wonderfully made.

Seven Reasons Why Brownies Beat Cake (and even Cookies)


  1. The frou-frou factor.  Give me a blondie brownie any day over a fancy schmancy slice of wedding cake.
  2. Frosting.  Brownies don’t need it.  I, for one, hate cake frosting.  The only exception is a very light smear of coconut pecan on German chocolate.  I never buy a cake from a grocery store, because I end up scraping all the icing off (which is more for décor anyway, and justification for charging an exorbitant amount).  Icing, almost always, overpowers the cake, and is almost always too sweet.  (Nuts also taste better in brownies than they do in cake.  They complement, rather than taste like someone’s baby teeth got baked into it.)
  3. Brownies are more satisfying.  They are denser (I never understood why someone would want to make “cakey” brownies).  One brownie=3 cupcakes (on a satisfaction level, according to Sarah’s Almanac).
  4. You can eat brownies with your fingers.  Cakes have to be in cupcake form to even accomplish this and then you’re stuck with the stupid wrapper.
  5. Brownies last longer (than cakes) and don’t tend to burn on the bottom (like cookies).  Cookies have a much smaller margin for error.
  6. You can cut away the edge of a brownie (unlike a cookie).  I get peevish looks when I’m checking out at Firehouse Subs, foraging for the sought-after center piece.
  7. Brownies are a simple melt-and-pour exercise.  Cookies take longer, because you have to scoop them out and sometimes even shape them.


Places that have the best brownies:  Firehouse Subs and Steak n’ Shake (just ask for the brownie by itself).  The brownies are pretty much the only thing Steak n’ Shake doesn’t mess up, and that’s because the brownies come in frozen and aren’t made there.

Cake’s sole redeeming value:  You can substitute unsweetened applesauce for the oil called for in a cake mix.  I never could figure out why my boxed brownie mixes weren’t turning out until I realized brownies must have oil (however, you can substitute canola or vegetable with coconut oil; just be sure to melt it first).