They Say No Two Are Alike, but the Recipe Calls for Twenty Four.

    God is standing over the kitchen counter
    leaning downward just a little,
    his feet cold on the black and white checkerboard floor.

    he reaches forward,
    grasping his weathered hands
    slowly around the sides of a
    tin metal can
    labeled with the plain letter “S.”

    he picks up the sugar can
    and sighs quietly, breathing in the scent of vanilla and cinnamon.
    Shake Shake Shake
    goes the can, and for the next three minutes,
    a continuous line of small particles are
    landing with an imperceptible “plink!”
    on the surface of the just-baked
    cream-colored cookies.

    God is making sugar cookies again.

    Here, it is snowing.

    I walk to class along the * * *
    sugar-dusted ground,
    breathing in the sweet scent of life,
    imagining so well the sensation of
    a fresh-baked cookie that I can
    taste God’s afternoon baking in my mouth.


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