not quite a poem about sugar-cookies

From my jumbled collection of cookie-cutters, I select a diamond, a little sheep,
and a daisy.

I dust the counter-top, sink my palms into the coolness of moist dough,
and feel the buttery mound of goodness fall into a disk beneath my wooden pin.

I place and press, lift with practiced hand, slide onto shining sheets of metal,
and -accompanied by the squeak of my oven door- shuffle my wares into the undulating
and eyelash-singeing heat.
They bake.

When they have cooled, they will be slathered with frosting, dotted with candied jewels
and arranged on a platter.

diamonds and sheep and daisies. Sweetly dressed
and ready for munching.