Recipe for Petite Macaroons
Mars ate everything that Apollo left
I make you macaroons for the last time
Though you are not here to eat them;
Small ones, so as not to taint your Gascon honor.
The large mixing bowl, as empty as my heart, is ready.
I beat the cheese and butter until fluffy
Filling the dough with an air of words,
As full of you as I was.
Stir in flour to soul the texture.
I divide the dough into quarters one for each of the lovers
For you, for Roxanne, for Christian
And yes, one for myself.
The surface is flowered and ready for work
I start with you, I have to,
Smooth into balls and divide and divide
Compose the dough into two lines of pyrrhic hexameter
Each to a muffin cup pressing evenly on all sides.
Then each of the lovers is treated the same,
Until nothing is left.
Pour the sweet milk of your verse into another bowl
Break eggs as cautiously as you broke each of our hearts.
Add extract of vanilla as clear as your soul
And cream as cloudy as your love.
Extract of almonds hard and liquid
Mix and test achieving proper nose.
Add coconuts, my own clumsy words, my own clumsy desire.
Make it gold with heat and years.
Remove when golden brown.
I taste one for you now
I leave the rest for the lark.
Marc Janssen lives in a house with a wife who likes him and a cat who loathes him. Regardless, his poetry can be found scattered around the world in places like Penumbra, Slant, Cirque Journal, Off the Coast, and The Ottawa Arts Journal. Janssen also coordinates the Salem Poetry Project, a weekly reading, and the annual Salem Poetry Festival.