Comfort Food

Poetics Tuesday: Comfort food

The buttercup yellow butter

Trickles down my fingers

There is nothing better than toast and jam

On a windy evening

I hum a little, in-between bites

I do this when I am happy

Pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth

And making it clip like a reassuring footstep

Occasionally I may be tempted by cakes and colours

As I walk around the shop

But always the fresh bread finds its way on to my plate

I like the reassuring sound of it popping out of the toaster

The firm scrape of the butter on the knife

And the crunchy slices within my mouth

All seems better when the stomach is quieted and full –

Happy, I think, in fact.