Magic Bitter, Magic Sweet

by Charlie N. Holmberg

I bake inspiration into specific flavors to make it easy for those who frequent my little bakeshop to find what they need. Those with a taste for the olive oil cake crave strength, while those who come back for the berry tarts are, unknowingly, seeking wisdom.

I remember warm embraces and diving into cool ponds until my fingers brush the silky earth at the bottom. I ponder the affection between mother and son, man and wife, friend and friend.

A tale that starts somewhere in chapter twenty and ends who knows where.

My heart swells to see the difference my treat has made to his broken countenance.

Somehow I will. I do not understand up. Down is down but up should be down too.

like I had tumbled from the sky and hit every forest branch on the way down. Like a baby bird with featherless wings.

There is a whole other world of spells and sorcery coexisting with my own. Alger knows it. This woman in the woods knows it. I believe, somehow, that Fyel knows it. I am completely ignorant about this hidden realm, but when I bake, I scrape my nails beneath its door.

Sugar is like medicine. It swirls on the tongue and settles the gut and inspires happier thoughts to the mind.

There is an abundance of maybes in our broken village, but one of them has to lead to a yes.