Poetry: "Old Family Recipe"

Half a year past, a whisk’s ring stirred

And chopped to pieces lumps of churned fat,

Insoluble in the floured mind’s eye

Flailing near drowning in the stream of memory

Until the useless, death-throe mixing

Caught in your hands, and you held on,

Guided limbs too shaken to know their way,

Compressed my uncertain form into the surety

Of the present, and in that merging,

We put it all behind us,

And started from scratch.