Welcome to Four Lines! I have a goal I would like to write at least four lines of poetry or a haiku every day for the rest of my life. I'm excited about this challenge! Also, along with my daily poem, I will be reading at least four lines of another author's poetry. I'll try to include that here also. So I'm thinking - how difficult can it be to read and then write one poem a day? We will see! - Claudia

All poems on this blog, unless noted, are written by Claudia Callaghan.
© 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016 Claudia Callaghan
Used only with permission. Please feel free to join Four Lines and request permission.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

"You're going to be a delicious
pineapple upside down cake," I say
patterning fresh pineapple slices
into a pan of melted brown sugar
and butter, sprinkled with cinnamon.
"Sorry, I talk my cakes as I make them."
I look over at my amused friend.
He hands me another glass of wine,
our third. Clos de los Siete, 2008.
"As long as the cakes don't talk back."
he winks.  I sip this third glass
of fine wine, - two is my usual limit -
feeling silly, giddy, like dancing in the snow.

"If you were a cake, what kind would you be?"
I want to know.  "If I were a cake?"
"If I were a cake?  If I were a cake? hmm.."
Suddenly, we're a laughing, hysterical duo.
I, manage somehow to steadily
pour the batter onto the fresh pineapple,
melted brown sugar, butter and cinnamon
and place this already delicious smelling
dessert into the 350 degree oven.
His laughing almost stops.  He starts thinking.
This is a matter of greatest importance,
official business, a promotion breaker.
"What kind of cake would I be?" he muses.
Curiously, carefully I examine his face,
one eyebrow up and one eyebrow down,
bright green eyes, Greek god nose,
half serious beautiful mouth. He's trying
not to look at me.
"Dobos torte! - delectable, cake
layered with chocolate butter cream frosting
topped with caramel.  My Dad's birthday
present each year from my mom."
"Wow!"  I'm amazed.  "Really?"
Leaning against the kitchen counter
I imagine Dobos torte...drummer cake,
a seven to twelve layer Hungarian sculpture,
an edible Hungarian sculpture,
unmatched when home made,
may be one day sold for gold,
dobos torte a delicious piece of history.

This intelligent, bright green eyed man,
move towards me grinning, "and you?
What what kind of cake would you be?"
Not a millisecond passes,
not the beat of a hummingbird's wing,
"A three layer dark chocolate cake
with dark chocolate frosting."
I gather all the reasons in another swift beat,
"antioxidant rich, soothes emotions,
causes delightful musical hhmmmmms....
a chocolate cake centerpiece on any table
is as exquisite as a bouquet of red roses,
love and happiness lives in every piece
of dark chocolate cake.
Do you know what I say to this cake
while combining, stirring ingredients?
You are the finest, most delicious,
decadent, delovely cake in the world.
You are poetry."

Casually, I sip a little more wine,
as if this conversation were
an every day occurrence.
"I think you're slightly crazy," he smiles,
but... I like it! I hope you'll make me
dark chocolate cake some day."
We raise our wine glasses,
"To cake!" he says brightly.
"To cake!" I reply beaming.
To cake!



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