How I once loved the simmer of pancake
morning waffles slippery with syrup,
a lifetime of lunches
snacking on whole wheat with ham, cheese, turkey
sinking into mayo and milk.
I was a bread making expert
tiny loaves of love
powered with raisins, nuts, grains
warm, just freshly brought from oven
salty butter drip from
lip to chin
I prided myself on the art of pastry
experimented with finesse and pleasure.
lost often in the rise of dough
kneading with strong and nimble hands
the rush of rise
the warmth of baking.
taste of toast
mixed with sunrise
slipping along the sheets
now gluten intolerant
there is no more bread or pasta, no pancakes
I dare not even savor one morsel
for the hunger rages within
and would devour me.