consolation in the kitchen Poem, by crypticbard, at My poetic side

The knife rests,
its silver edge carrying
a small sun across the crust.

You wanted the impossible—
to butter your toast and eat it too,
to keep the sheen intact
while tasting its warmth.

Isn’t that the old wish,
to hold the thing and spend it,
to keep the flame unbroken
while leaning into its light?

So we practice the art of vanishing:
a bite, a swallow,
the plate left clean
yet somehow still radiant.

And tomorrow,
when the loaf is smaller,
we’ll laugh at the trick again—
to butter your toast and eat it too,
and call it survival.

Comments +

sorenbarrett October 18th, 2025 06:28
Deeply philosophical as well as poetic the two merge in this poem. The cutting edge reflective beams light or knowledge on the crust of surface. Man always strives to understand and accomplish the impossible. How do we retain what we consume? Keep clean that, that we dirty. We fool ourselves thinking that we can save the planet as we ravish it not noticing tomorrow that it has grown smaller and doing the same all over.

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consolation in the kitchen