Raspberry Pancakes A Tuesday morning and I’m mixing high fibre batter in a bowl dropping the delicate, full-lipped raspberries in, one by one The bleeding berries sizzle with the heat of the grill and the sweet smell relegates the everyday aroma of coffee to the background I know the pancakes will make me late But the alternative is not okay on this workday in which I will calmly and routinely make entitlement decisions. Another breakfast of toast would kill me. Flapjack, griddlecake, pancake, not a cake But a misshapen, bubbling disc that finds its own edges God is on the griddle and the devil too. It’s the Virgin Mary, and now a heart pink and brown Like a sunburned gringo Outside the sun’s not yet up, but makes its way over the mountains, A dollop of yogurt beneath a lake of maple syrup elevates them to divine. The first always sub-par but the promise of more, and you believe. These unlikely stars of your day are finicky and beyond knowing.