enoughTop Story - November 2023
April 7, 2022. 9:14AM.
farm-fresh eggs, with nubbly blue shells that crack in divine geometry
butter, churned and smacked and salted by an Amish neighbor
flour, finely milled, puffing scattered clouds from a torn corner
sugar, spilling crystalline and pure as last month's snow
salt, carrying the taste of the sea and the smell of nothing
rhubarb, slender and stringy, with neon bulbs and bloody tips
strawberries, small as my thumbnail, ripe enough to stain my canvas bag
lemons, bright and waxy, sour enough to find my scratches
a pie dish, deep enough to hold a dream, but not so deep I lose myself