In literary theory, the chronotope is how a moment in time and space collide through language.

bare essentials

sugar (i) 

just one rogue molecule 

of moisture in a bowl 

means that for at least three 

fillings-up, the sugar 

won’t flow the way it should 

and sometimes 

it takes even longer. 

flour (ii) 

I press the fleshy heel 

of my hand down-forward and 

stretch the starchy strands, 

smoothing the shaggy boule 

to a fat marble the colour 

of my thighs 

(but not peppered with red). 

salt (iii) 

I used to sneak mountains 

into my mouth, poised in 

the palm of my hand; not 

exactly what you’d call 

a snack, but disallowed 

all the same 

and so just as tempting. 

fat (iv) 

I cannot be rendered 

in any way I like. 

I am a solid state 

secret, with high smoke point, 

but there are some techniques 

that don’t work 

the way that they ought to.