Glass Poetry Press

Volume Six Issue One

Sara Baker

Cooking Lessons

Moth wings on a lasagna pan, more fragile than porcelain or hearts. I've no idea how long they've been there — first time I've used this dish since I returned to cooking for one. The wings are whispers, skeletons, but they stick like a stain. I have to scratch them off with my fingernails. Later, the image comes back to me. The words, moth wings. The sounds rise in the air, splitting, beating: mo thw ings spitting: thw. The sound of something soaring. The dire need for a right answer, a wrong one.