I had wanted to bake a cake, a hard one,
a challenge, meant to be both therapy and fun.
A ‘difficult’ rated birthday cake, chocolate of course,
to mark my birthday this year, my forty-fourth.
Good intentions, I thought, to bake a cake,
for my hard fought birthday to celebrate.
This year has brought ups, downs, trials and changes,
and therapy I find sometimes will come in phases.
From measuring, leveling, mixing and stirring,
until all the ingredients began blurring.
A certain sense of unity
can be felt by following the recipe.
Next into the oven, then the washing up,
bowls, spoons, soapy water and cups.
Except something went unexpectedly wrong,
overflowing, the pans set off the smoke alarm’s song.
I know it’s part of what I asked for-the challenge,
gamely the cake base I did try to salvage.
So tonight the failed effort goes into the trash bin,
and tomorrow I shall attempt to bake a cake again.
I wonder, perhaps this fouled start is a symbol, a sign,
of the journey this year I’ve had taken and hills I’ve had to climb.