Kitchen Disaster

Every time I go home,

I bake.

I bake, and I bake and I bake,

Until my mom groans and bemoans

that I ruin her diet, with my sweets.

But it is a compulsion-

Where real life is suspended

for easy choices and pre-cooked meals.

But I like to bake,

a safe place for me:

where I can still fail and not feel

too bad about kitchen disasters

I can later throw away.

The time I made the Tangerine Soufflé,

Complete disaster.

Forever to juice,

zesting my knuckles instead;

perfect curls ending up smushed.

Fruitless.

But I misread the directions

Left out a key component

And when I smelled something burning

I thought all was lost.

But I managed to salvage my creation

burned parts scraped off,

lots of whipped cream;

A little slice of orangey heaven.

Even though the rest of it,

Which my family didn’t eat,

just sat in the fridge,

until I finally threw it out.