Butter cleaves its way through flour

Pinch of salt

Broken chocolate scattered through out

Huey blades cleave through clouds the color of flour

Pinch of salt from the dying GI

Tears form parallel lines on cheeks

Shattered chocolate in a tattered hip pocket

Broken favors never promised


In preparing the batter she missed a step

One sudden hesitation

The man in the gray sedan strode up the driveway

Hand clutching package

Purple ink smeared

“Return to sender”

Sun screaming glint

Off Ray-ban sunglasses

The doorknob is so cold, he thinks,

Latch clicks as he draws open

The tableau of misery

She drops the crimson bowl

Batter becomes the walls and ceiling

She knows her son is gone forever

Butter and flour share shards of crimson, salt, and chocolate


The howl is long and black

Like a summer night in Saigon 1968