1.
Take
your time, folding the layers. Create air and light by sifting, gentling a
wooden spoon through the mixture. The way your mother taught you. Nowadays it’s
throw everything in and stir like crazy. Don’t do that.
2.
Ensure
your prepared tin is to hand, the oven not too hot. You don’t want to burn the
cake, like last time. This new recipe needs careful attention.
3.
Beyond
the bowl’s rim there’s a pattern you don’t recognise, carelessly draped. A
sugared surface to charm the bees.
Ignore it.
Ignore it.
4.
Draw a
line and lick your finger. Sink it between the viscous strings of a dried date
and ease apart. The dress gapes, loose-necked.
Ignore it.
Ignore it.
5.
She will wake soon, your
daughter, sticky with slumber from the latest scrawny confection. She will pad
barefoot, poking her fingers in everywhere. You must tell-ask-beg her to slow
down, take more care. Sweeten your words with date and walnut. When she goes to
cut another slice for the dress, rest your hand on her arm and say, “No food
upstairs.”
6.
Close
the oven and wait for the rise.
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