Comfort Food

Home is where the heart is
stitched in muslin
on her kitchen wall.
Her heart is wretched,
the place no longer warm and safe.
"Pillsbury. . .straight from the heart!"
blaring from the under-cabinet set
he gave her last Christmas
vows yet intact (she believed).
Could she win him back
with cinnamon and spice
and all things nice--
sticky buns, perhaps?
"The way to a man's heart
is through his stomach,"
Grandma used to say.

Shall she gut him
with her spatula
and savor the heart
as a late-night snack?