Life Without Butter
You just never know when a life lesson might show up on your doorstep… In this case, however, it arrived on my breakfast plate. That’s when Butter, whose one of my closest friends, offered up a really good one… Read on.
I cut off a corner
of the soft lemony pastry
with cinnamon crumbles on top
I raised the wedge to my nose
I could smell the butter
Of course,
I took a modest serving
After all, this was a public place
Can you guess how much larger
the slice might have been
if I was eating it
while standing over my kitchen sink?
But you don't really need
more than one bite
to allow the belly to soften,
the taste to settle in,
the warm and cozy goodness
swirling on the tongue,
the tart lemon harmonizing
with sweet cinnamon crumbles
Oh, the delight in such small pleasures!
I glanced over toward my friend
in a bit of daze, and said,
“Imagine a life without butter”
I could see her eyes shifting
as she processed her reply
She smiled,
and then said,
“Well, that picture would be me”
Turns out, she loves butter
and would’ve never given it up
until her body tried to tell her,
she had to
The signs were everywhere
the cramps, the discomfort,
the fatigue and sick days
She one day heard the cries,
realizing her body
in a state of dis- ease,
was sending her a message
She must somehow live without butter.
And so began her journey to feel better
She sits with me today,
butter and dairy-free
A different culinary path
now leads her to treats
newly discovered,
satisfying her palate,
her body and her soul
As we do when we choose to survive,
she has adapted and evolved
For some reason the conversation
stayed with me for days.
So I let it take shape
Though I grieve for those
who will never write love poems
about butter
something else was still tickling my mind
It was the lesson
in our convo
now perfectly clear
One person's pleasure
is another one's pain
Can we be so different
and be so much the same?
It’s a question I ask daily
when dancing on the tightrope---
sensitivity and empathy
at one end of the rope—-
and a plain recognition
on the other,
-—-that assumption is sticky---
knowing my joy
will sometimes be your pain
Take a breath in
and then let it go…
Knowing what’s true
means accepting
the unknown that is hidden
It’s hidden…
in the rest of the story
Sipping my coffee
I savor once again
that buttery goodness
and sigh,
realizing that
my butter is your cream cheese
my pastry, your bagel
When I finally wipe the crumbs
from the corners of my mouth,
I somehow feel wiser,
having talked to my friend about butter,
for I found what was hidden
in the rest of the story…