By Max Gillette
The miraculous thing about you standing in my kitchen
is that it’s you
and you’re standing in my kitchen
wearing my bathrobe and June’s verdant light.
The miraculous thing about the pancakes
on the stove is that your hands folded them into dough
and hammered them into gold.
The miraculous thing about the syrup on the counter
is that I can lift your sticky hands to my face
take you into my mouth like prayer—your body
the only benediction I’ll ever need.
Max Gillette is studying English and creative writing at Central Michigan University. They are an editor for two campus journals, a writing tutor, and sometimes a musician. Their poetry has appeared in Cutbow Quarterly, HAD, Spoonie Press, JAKE, the voidspace, Healthline Zine, and elsewhere. You can find Max on Twitter @quartzpoet.
