Phyllo
Phyllo
Sweet taste of baclava.
Drizzled honey.
Crunchy walnuts.
Hint of nutmeg.
Warmed to delicate crispness.
My mouth waters.
Eyes light with delight.
Nose twitches in anticipation.
But…….
Here I stand at midnight.
My kitchen a doughy mess.
Rolling and re-rolling phyllo dough
My trials and tribulations
on display with cracked
and torn doughy pieces
spread across the counter.
Exhausted, ready to give up.
The baklava seems miles away.
Time wasted proving I can’t
make phyllo dough.
I slouch in my chair.
Depression seeps into my soul.
Then, with a grin, I remember
my favorite Greek restaurant opens
in the morning.
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