ICING
ICING
When I was fourteen
A couple of my older sisters
(Aka
THE BIG GIRLS)
Signed up for a
Cake decorating class
I wanted to go
But
As they had
For the preceding fourteen years
They said
NO
No
Might as well have been
My given name
I don’t know how
But I figured out a way
And took that class
And, of course,
Too dull a fact to be called
Irony
Nonetheless it is true
That I was
Best at it
And
Most into it
And
Stuck with it
I made cakes
Like crazy
Elaborate affairs
Including, yes,
A couple of
Wedding cakes
For
THE BIG GIRLS
It would take many
Many many many
Cakes
And more than a few
Tragedies—
Like that time I failed
To pull my long hair back
Before bending my face to
Check the viscosity of
The lard-filled icing
And the beaters of the
Mixer I clutched in my hand
Gave each other a
High five
And
It all happened so fast
They grabbed my locks
And spun with joy
Until
There was my face
In that bowl of grease
Powdered sugar exploding
Everywhere
It looked like
Studio 54 in there
I can recall
So many things
But not how
I managed to
Keep all of my hair
I did not bear a grudge against
Or even avoid icing
After that
The way I had spent years
Afraid of umbrellas
Until someone pointed out
I should have blamed the stray
That ate mine in kindergarten
And left me
Unable to even
Be in a room with an umbrella
For at least thirty years
You’re blaming the victim
My friend said
Laughing and also
Blaming me all
In one breath
(At least he didn’t
Mention
My pack of dogs)
This observation
allowed me to
Eventually
Buy an umbrella
And even another
I needed no one
To tell me
Not to
Get mad at
The icing
For I already knew
The secret of same
Told to me by
That woman
Wielding the pastry bag
Saying
Look! A basket weave!
Look! A buttercream rose!
She let us in
On the key
To her universe
Icing
She said
Can fix anything
I never forgot that
Comes in handy every day
The other night
I was drawing me
Which might sound vain
Unless you know
I was raised
To so loathe myself
That to this day
I never remember
To buy mirrors
So once in a while
I draw me
I want to see
What my hands
Think I look like
On that particular night
It was going
So well
By which I mean
I had not condemned myself
Not even once
Then
It was time for
The mouth
My hands
Like those
Devilish beaters
Decided they would
Give
Heath Ledger’s Joker
A run for the
Motherlovin’ money
Knock knock
Who’s there?
The ghost of your
Fourth grade art teacher
Who told you
You’re doing it wrong
And thusly initiated
The world’s
Earliest artist retirement
Until
Fuck that guy
I started again
At fifty-six
I said
To the ghost
Of that man
I can’t see you right now
I’m busy
And he started to say
You’re doing it wro…
And then
Our Lady of the Buttercream Icing
Showed up and
Pushed him aside
I dipped my brush
Into the deep blue pigment
I said
Thank you covid
For the inspiration
And
Thank you
Our lady
For the
Tip
And then
Joy restored
I fixed
Everything