Today the rain falls outside the window with a broken pane <br />The cold rises from the cellar into the floorboards <br />Where her feet leap to the nearest rug. <br /> <br />She bundles in her favorite red wool sweater, black striped socks <br />Glancing out to the driveway to see that Ted has taken the car for the day, <br />She resolves to bake chocolate-chip cookies <br /> <br />She gathers her orange tins, white Tupperware cases, blue cartons <br />On the old oak table; sleeves rolled, hair pinned, <br />She mushes together the ingredients as her mother once did <br /> <br />With glad taste in her mouth from a snuck morsel of dough <br />She pops the cookies into the eye-glass-steaming hot oven <br />And sits content in her rocking chair to wait<br /><br />gina prettybrowneyes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sylvia-plath-talks-about-baking-cookies/
