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Consolation in the Kitchen

The knife rests,
its silver edge carrying
a small sun across the crust.

You wanted the impossible—
to butter your toast and eat it too,
to keep the sheen intact
while tasting its warmth.

Isn’t that the old wish,
to hold the thing and spend it,
to keep the flame unbroken
while leaning into its light?

So we practice the art of vanishing:
a bite, a swallow,
the plate left clean
yet somehow still radiant.

And tomorrow,
when the loaf is smaller,
we’ll laugh at the trick again—
to butter your toast and eat it too,
and call it survival.

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