You order fancy sprinkles
off the Internet. Twenty bucks
for a small jar of bright glitter
and when they come in,
you sail away into the kitchen,
gathering cosmic dusts:
sifted flour, cocoa solids,
granulated sugar, a scatter of salt,
and other celestial bodies:
yellow yolks like suns,
a milky way of cream and vanilla,
soft butter, drops of color.
You poured this batter of starstuff
into a pan black as space
then the long heat, the longer cooling,
until you finished with
a glossy blue-black glaze
and your jar of sprinkles
and finally, you cut a wedge
to reveal brilliant colors:
the swirling nebula within,
handed me a fork
and asked me what I thought:
this cake is so much like you,
until the first sweet bite,
I never knew I could taste stars.
— Adam Kamerer
Listen:
Behind The Scenes
