Friend

Written about a friend and the cookies she still owes me.

Friend:
Thanks for the hugs
         for the laughs
         for the tears
         for the secrets
         for the love.

Thanks for the flowers
         for the artwork
         for the books
    and for those cookies
I never got.

I’ll get them someday, probably.
In the meantime I’ll survive
        on the music of your laugh
         the water of your tears
         the hope behind your eyes
         the feast of pain, love, life.

Did you know it tastes like soup?
Life, that is.
Want to know what kind?
Can’t tell you, it’s a secret.

Hint: it’s made with mop water
                   and roses.

No, I can’t tell you!
You have to figure it out!

While you’re thinking about life
                   and soup
you should make me those cookies.

Real cookies,
not the metaphorical ones
that taste like dusty wisdom.
None of those computer ones,
either.

Just cookies,
         with a little love
         on top, like sprinkles.
Seriously, you owe me
three batches by now.