Issue 8, January 2011
Gingerbread Mean
By Helen R. Peterson
The molasses slid slow
out of
the pitcher
into
the bowl ,
creeping
like revelers
after the party
holding their
heads, stumbling
to their cars.
It moved through
the mix of flour
and spice, like the line
of drunken vehicles
in a mix of
ice and snow
careful,
careful,
unaware that coming
from behind was the spoon
to muck it about
until there is nothing left—
no ginger, no egg,
just crisp flat men, staring
through cinnamon eyes.
BIO: Helen R. Peterson is the managing editor of Chopper Poetry Journal out of New London, Ct, and has previously published in over 100 print and online journals, both nationally and internationally. Most recently, her work was accepted at Existere, The Stickman Review, and Strong Verse. Her work was also featured in The Work Book, an anthology put out by Poet Plant Press in 2007. She recently read at the Bowery Poetry Club in Manhattan in November. A librarian and mother of three, she lives in Connecticut.
Her blog can be found at mspetersonexplains.wordpress.com