It's Still Life

An Everywhere Poem: The Childhood Rituals of Cake Batter

I wake in the middle
of a dream.

Something about clay.
Or maybe
it was cake batter.

Mum always let me lick
cake batter
from the mixer beaters.

Unless my little sister
was nearby,

then we had to share.

Like our clothes,

my sister and I
dressed in the same fabric.

Mum sewed.

We looked identical,

except that she was short

and I wasn’t,

which is why
she was my little sister.

And she was blonde.

Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.