I promised. Everybody heard.
But later on I broke my word.
I broke it into two, then three,
and then by careful witchery
I made the little parts revive
and there were four of them, then five
then six. And soon they grew to nine.
I laid them on a tray of bone
and baked them slow and hot. And when
my cookery was good and done
I saw by light of setting sun
my word reconstitute as one
and it was wedding. Two-tiered cake,
I carry it myself to where
the guests are waiting. How they stare
at my trickery, at my way with air.
If you've any comments about this poem, Helena Nelson would be pleased to hear from you.