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
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
We stir it all in
with the butter and vanilla