...though i'm here in this far off place
my air is not this time and space.
i invited bri over on friday.
i needed her help with an important gift.
i pulled out all the ingredients.
my prettiest utensils and fanciest spice jars.
brought them all over to my kitchen table.
turned the blinds and let the sunshine flood my space.
i let briana control my pandora station.
first: come and find me
i am clumsy in the kitchen - but i measured so carefully this time.
poured the salt in my hand and felt it slip through my fingertips.
i got flour on my shirt. on my pants. even my shoes.
i hummed through star mile.
whispered along to down in the valley.
the recipe went quick.
it was in the oven before i knew it...
so we painted ferns onto a piece of the softest linen.
my hair fell in my face. i cried.
and felt my heavy heart beat along to broken chair.
the oven timer rang.
we ran a tiny sharp knife through the warm shortbread.
tenderly wrapped it up in our linen.
and tied it closed with a cotton thread.
i snitched some of the left over crumbs - let them melt on my tongue.
i tasted the salt.
the sugary bits.
she played me one more before heading off.
thomas newman's any other name
she had lot's of places to be this weekend.
i am so grateful that she spent a moment with me.
photo of briana by alisha stamper