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Burnt biscuits

by Sophia Sprick
Mrs. Honeycreek woke from her sleep of such slumber
With a wake 

and a moan 
and a yawn 
and a mutter 
Her white and grey hair was spread out all with tangles
To form a large cotton mass showing knots from all angles
She rose from her bed of goose feathers and foam
​To a room of dust bunnies, dark shadows, her home
She felt oh quite off 

Not right 
And in shambles 
As she realized her head 
Was at the foot of her bed 
With her pillow tucked under her old creepy ankles
She was frail and quite lonely 

bitter of sorts 
With crow’s feet for days 
And wrinkles hard as quartz 
She lived all alone in a wide drafty house 
Wooden floors 
Peeling doors 
And a large pesky mouse 
She straightened her back from her bed of great comfort
To figure out why her hands were all sticky 

She felt really icky 
Knew something was wrong 
When she saw handfuls of candy 
Clumped up in her palm 
Candy corn laid not just in her hands 
but all over her floors 
Her pillows 
And way up on her fans 
She felt even more off as she pulled back her covers
To reveal her grey PJs were all in a clutter 

Her bottoms were backward 
Her button-up wrong 
As each button was clasped 
It seemed 
to a different song 
Her top button low 
Bottom button missed
And her panties misaligned 
An impractical miss 
Her white parachute panties 
Her grannie jammie essential 
Were on the wrong way! 
A dementia potential? 
“Candy in bed! And an ache in my head!” 
She climbed out of bed 
And walked down her hall 
As a mouse scattered by 
And right up her wall 
She smelled a bad smell 
One burning and black 
As she stepped down her stars it hit her with a smack
Plumes of dark smoke had been rising up the stairs
Through the kitchen then the hall 

and seeped into her grey hair 
She hurried real quick 
through smoke fragrant and thick 
She looked down on a pan covered with fog 
To find eight blacked biscuits 
Soaked in dark smog 
Burnt to a crisp 
A waist of her dough 
Who dare cook my biscuits! 
She didn’t even know… 
She cracked a creaky window 
Just slightly more 
Let out the dark air 
Then walked to her living room and paused in a stair
Her beige couch had flipped over 

Her rocking chair moved 
Her thick curtains cut up 
In shapes and in grooves 
her blankets were folded in a neat pile 
she looked down to her table 
To see a crocodile! 
puzzle of course 
One creepy and large 
Who’s length spread three feet 
She had never seen it complete 
She moved her pale feet from the spot which they were glued
To walk round her house to find everything skewed 

She filled with confusion
anger 
And tire 
For the cause of this mess, she was the supplier
Mrs. Honeycreek knew 

Just in that moment 
She must have done it all 
traveled her home 
To re-arranged and to roamed 
She had ruined her curtains 
And wasted her dough 
She had flipped round her living room 
And scattered candy to and fro 
She had folded and puzzled and smoked up her home
Nearly started a fire 

What else? 
Who's to know 
Mrs. Honeycreek sighed as she looked at her mess 
She was angry yet tired 
And wanted to rest 
Her back screamed with ache 
Her neck skin had stretched 
Her ankles 
her knees 
Her hips all compressed 
She dragged her poor feet 
Right-back through her house 
All the while being followed 
By a fat pesky mouse 
Right up her stairs 
in bedroom 
then bed 
she flipped round her pillow 
And laid down her old cranky head 
Then Mrs. Honeycreek woke from her sleep of such slumber 
With a wake 
and a moan 
and a yawn 
and a mutter 
She repeated this sequence, day in and day out
Of waking 

Confusion 
Then tire 
With doubt 
Till the day her old head didn’t rise from her pillow
The mouse chewed burnt biscuits 
flies flew through her window 
Her room and her home stayed frozen in time
​Still 

And then lifeless 
Sad but sublime 
A stench flew with wind 
Confused and mislead 
And no breath left her body her mouth or her head 
Mrs. Honeycreek didn’t wake from her sleep such of slumber 
There was no wake 
There was no moan, no yawn 
And no mutter
Artist Statement
​Burnt Biscuits was inspired by old age and my family's history of Alzheimer's disease.
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