Irresistible Force

I keep coming back to this one. It's not my greatest ... just a few words strung together like beads on a string ... but they serve to preserve a memory of a time that was.

And this one's so firmly implanted ... the great smell of freshly-baked cookies wafting through the house.

Sometimes ... my subconscious at work, I suppose ... I seem to get a vague kind of signal, stop what I'm doing in mid-sentence, abandon the keyboard, and go walking briskly toward the kitchen.

There, I'm getting it again ...

But I have to resist. Cookies ... at least that kind ... the sugar-laden, chocolate-laced ... LARGE ... kind, are on my forbidden list now. My doctor seems to have ways of knowing if I've even inhaled the aroma of one of my favorites.

So I just savor the memories. Ah, how sweet they are!

The poem:

IRRESISTIBLE FORCE

Sometimes, even

wild horses

couldn't drag me

from my room,

but the aroma

of cookies fresh

from the oven

always could.

© 1996

(originally published in Capper's)

***

Today's word:

horses

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Although my grandmother could bake a pretty mean pie, Magran, it was my Aunt Mabel, as I recall, who brought the real goodies into my life when she paid us a visit ... fudge ... and, yes, those wonderful, delicious cookies. They're still my favorite food group ... all the more, now that they've taken on a "forbidden fruit" aspect. Ah, but I still have the memories ...