The Divorcee Bakes Bread.

Now there is time to explore
Those small things I wanted
To try. The breadmaker aunts
Selected from the registry.

All those useless homey things.
Sitting unused for so long.
Mine alone now--what matter,
He'll never know its gone.

The bread fell. It rose too much
Before I baked. Never doing it
Before, I did not know enough
When I saw it.
But it had looked to be
So good, I could practically taste
The lightness and the warmth,
Sweet taste of home. This mess will not do--
It can't compare to what I thought I had.

And so I am left staring at this sorry lump,
No success to distract me,
Saddened by things said and left unsaid
By who I was, and can no longer be