I turn off the news, switch
to the Great British Bakeoff
where the worst disaster is a pie
with a soggy bottom or a cake
stuck in the tin. I watch deft fingers
separate eggs, grate lemon zest,
construct confections that are feasts
for eye and palate, taste and texture
just right, the flavors coming through,
pastry melting in the mouth. I hunger
to get in my kitchen and bake.
The footage has been cut to focus
on the hugs, the hands that help lift
a cake onto its stand, the arms that comfort
the baker whose tart dropped on the floor.
I want to live in a world like that.