The spoken words disappear into the echo of the space.
It was "the art of . . . something."
The missing word had two syllables
and the sound of a long "a".
Or spacing? Or tasting?
The art of spacing evokes my years of typesetting
with an early computer:
type each line two times—
oh, you really don't need to know,
because them days is gone forever.
And good riddance.
The art of basting.
This must be a domestic poem:
thread that needle (I hope your eyes
are younger than your ears)
and make long running stitches along the seam.
Ease in excess fabric as you go.
Or perhaps it's about
opening the oven to remove the holiday bird.
About tipping the pan and spooning juices
over the thighs and breasts
already halfway to a golden brown perfection.
The art of facing?
This might be more difficult,
depending on whom you're facing.
Let's call it the art of tasting
and be done with it.
Food blog: http://fastandfearlesscooking.blogspot.ca