Tracy flips the grilled cheese
In the mini-fry pan; a compromise
For not ordering a medium pizza with
Pepperoni, mushrooms, and anchovies.
The faux butter bubbles around
The edges of the rye bread and
The faux cheese melts down the
Side and begins to brown.
And just as her fingers wrap around
The spatula handle, molded plastic, and
The scent of cheese and sautéed butter,
Faux butter, snakes to her brain stem,
She loses them all again; Tracy at nine
Recovering from surgery, the hospital
Won’t release her until she eats; her
Mother unwrapping wax paper,
The paper crinkle, the faux butter
Sizzle, and the grilled cheese musty
Sweet scent, and she eats, finally. She gets to
Go home. Now, standing in the kitchen,
Alone, she flips the sandwich and swallows
The words circling in her head.
Fluorescent light, shadows running
Their fingers through her hair,
Picnic sandwiches by the lake in Huntsville,
Grilled cheese for dinner in a Baltimore rowhouse,
Dinner fare in North Chicago with her drafted
First love; with her own heart, wrapped in
Wax paper, crinkling.
Grilled Cheese
Mary Bargteil, has worked as a high-level administrator and office manager for over 20 years and is also an adjunct writing professor for UMGC, and is published in short story, novella, and poetry. Graduated summa cum laude with an M.F.A. in Creative Writing and Publication Arts, her poetry has appeared in Gargoyle, The Light Ekphrastic, Scribble, Welter, Brown Bag Literary Magazine, Scorched Earth, and Octopus Dreams. She also taught creative writing and memoir courses at Anne Arundel Community College and at private institutions for over a decade.