Cookie Week

by regressada


So I think it’s cookie week.

I think. Cookies aren’t exactly a glamorous sample of literary cuisine. They don’t have the romantic appeal of tea or soup, and they aren’t a staple of a well-stocked pantry or a proper story.

They just show up in my own story a lot.

this is part it:



You should know
we resort to cookies
when we run out of words.
when saying is too sharp
or too incoherent
here have some
extra-stuffed chocolate chip, pumpkin-buttermilk,
seven layer snickerdoodle
(yes let’s fill you up with sugar –
as if you need it.)
it’s maternal instinct, maybe.
Or maybe we just fail at loving,
and all we’ve got to hide behind now, our
last language
is coded for your tastebuds, masterpiece-by-the-dozen
maybe you missed it


allow me to translate.

cookies mean I love you
cookies mean I need a hug
cookies mean I’m insecure today and I just want you
to say I’m pretty or
talk about me to your friends –
maybe rate me an 8 out of 10.
cookies mean please don’t leave yet
mean I feel at home around you
talk to me
you can do it I know you can and
I want you to know so bad that
I’m afraid to tell you
out loud.

We stir it all in
with the butter and vanilla
and hope