That cocky half-grin
Half-grimace
Present joy tempered by the need to be perceived as aloof
You were always too aloof
But in this moment the gleam in your eyes
Iridescent
Smudges of flour dot your face
Silly chef’s hat askew on your head
Strong hands
Sinewy
Kneading the dough
Lift and fold
Press and mold
I miss those hands on my neck
Kneading cold shoulders
Your smile now genuine
The simple joy of carving out circles from the rest
Shake the metal cutter lightly to deposit doughy rounds on waiting starch
Little clouds of white powder displaced
Making their way onto the hair on the back of your arms
Tinny radio adds a staticky tempo to the proceedings
Drifts its way into our ears as you light the fire
The tepid oil slowly getting hot
You make a show of lackadaisical dropping sufganya rounds
The bubbling oil accepting the offerings in exchange for splashes of burning reprimand
You never did do well with being reprimanded
Now though, you shrug it off
Anticipation over jelly-filled sugary delight
Supersedes any irritation
The aroma of greasy, floury, buttery deliciousness
Wafting in ringlets above and around your face
The subject of your intent gaze slowly crisping as you playfully flip the uncooked side over
I was never jealous of a doughnut before
The finished cylinders dropped unceremoniously on a waiting rack
You burn your fingers impatiently snatching a cooling round
Eager to fill it with jelly
You were always impatient
But this time your excitement is infectious
Taking an enormous bite of the first sufganya
Overfilled
Almost exploding
A glob of jelly lands on your shirt
Right above your heart
Your childlike glee fills my own heart
Almost exploding
Indeed
Half-grimace
Present joy tempered by the need to be perceived as aloof
You were always too aloof
But in this moment the gleam in your eyes
Iridescent
Smudges of flour dot your face
Silly chef’s hat askew on your head
Strong hands
Sinewy
Kneading the dough
Lift and fold
Press and mold
I miss those hands on my neck
Kneading cold shoulders
Your smile now genuine
The simple joy of carving out circles from the rest
Shake the metal cutter lightly to deposit doughy rounds on waiting starch
Little clouds of white powder displaced
Making their way onto the hair on the back of your arms
Tinny radio adds a staticky tempo to the proceedings
אני עוד חי
Drifts its way into our ears as you light the fire
The tepid oil slowly getting hot
You make a show of lackadaisical dropping sufganya rounds
The bubbling oil accepting the offerings in exchange for splashes of burning reprimand
You never did do well with being reprimanded
Now though, you shrug it off
Anticipation over jelly-filled sugary delight
Supersedes any irritation
The aroma of greasy, floury, buttery deliciousness
Wafting in ringlets above and around your face
The subject of your intent gaze slowly crisping as you playfully flip the uncooked side over
I was never jealous of a doughnut before
The finished cylinders dropped unceremoniously on a waiting rack
You burn your fingers impatiently snatching a cooling round
Eager to fill it with jelly
You were always impatient
But this time your excitement is infectious
Taking an enormous bite of the first sufganya
Overfilled
Almost exploding
A glob of jelly lands on your shirt
Right above your heart
Your childlike glee fills my own heart
Almost exploding
טוב שלא אבדה עוד התקווה
Indeed