The Baker’s Wife

Diane Wakoski

Diane Wakoski

She is tiny as a butter knife
and as if she were some dainty pastry, she
often wears lace or hugs silver
next to her cheek.
No children, but in the kitchen, a big red and blue Macaw,
a living room full of yellow and blue parakeets
which she claims all talk to her while she reads poetry
and drinks coffee from a doll-sized cup.

If I met her in the library, I’d
never think she were married to a dough
man. And in fact if I saw her husband on the street,
with his torso slim as a French baguette,
and his long-fingered hands which don’t seem like paddles
or even hooks, but more like those
of a man on a tropical terrace drinking rum,
I wouldn’t guess
that either of them go fishing
in the Rocky Mountains on their vacations,
or that they avidly read a Star Trek

This poem originally appeared in Red Cedar Review, Vol. 33. For more information on this author at the time of this publication, and other online issues of this publication go to:

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