Flour
Mara makes muffins on Sunday
at 4 a.m. – still drunk, abandoned
Yells at invisible trespassers
shows them a map
directs them to dark, lurid places –
points to her heart where it was sliced.
Sunday afternoon, she calls us.
The muffins are split with fruit
coarse flour, raw sugar, sour milk
kept warm under a white cloth.
Her coffee is full bodied,
and heavy.
The secret is in the beating she explains – Once you begin stirring in a certain direction, say from left to right. – don’t suddenly go from right to left. If you do, you’ll have tunnels. You’ll be lost. Taken away, by men who read books about sin and redemption. They will wear new belts and grey dress pants with sharp creases saved only for church, teach you about love and pity, guide you to a room with mirrored walls, deep music, fake fur cushions shaped like lips –
~ Ellie Csepregi
Ellie Csepregi has been published in the past, in anthologies and journals by bill bissett, Gerry Gilbert, The Windsor Review and Rampike. Some of her longer works were made into dance and theatrical performances by Vancouver Theater Space and the Fire Hall Theater.
A very effective combination of verse and prose stanzas.
And a great balance of lyric and shout!
Fine piece.
In the poem “Flour”, Ellie Csepregi takes something as ordinary
as a muffin and creates a powerful metaphor that storms across
the page with anger and pain. This is poetry in a moment of
exquisite creative energy!
Mary Ann Mulhern, May 10, 2009
Her voice, her poem, her muffins – an open book. The warmth, the emotion, the hunger – for all to see. The aloneness, the comfort of food, the expression… fulfilling and flowing. I particularly liked the “points to her heart where it was sliced” part. Very graphic and a lovely combination of the food imagery with the body… well done! She is full bodied and deep… must have some Hungarian blood!