Shortbread

Shortbread

Somehow it got

made. It began

in a packaged version

that was gone in

three days. We talked

about it and then

we forgot. And then,

one afternoon, we

realized it was easy.

I laid out the aluminum

bowl, the sugar, the

butter we got cheap.

You procrastinated

with the KitchenAid

(why did we tuck it

at the back of

a shelf?) and used

it halfway

through all

the mixing.

Your father

patted it down

in the pan and made

the holes with

a fork. And

at exactly 3:45

you dusted it

with confectioner’s

sugar. Sometimes

perfection is

nothing grand.

It is a grace

that lands

ever so

lightly.

August 4, 2021

Photo mine.

Day 3, Poem no. 5 for The Writing Oasis (Summer 2021) with Beth Kempton