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# Comfort
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/comfort/
- Published: 2026-08-01T06:24:00.000Z
- Updated: 2026-08-01T06:24:00.000Z
- Description: “Comfort,” an ode to the simplicity and feeling of calm that a homemade biscuit can bring, and how quickly peace can be erased by the Calll of the Washer. Written Saturday, August 01, 2026 poem 201 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo: "Comfort on a Plate," by Diana Ludwi
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Culinary, Eating and Drinking, Nostalgia, Poems, Short-form Musings, August, Baked Good, Biscuits, Bonne Mamman, Calm, Chores, Comfort, Core Memory, Grandma, High Summer, Home, In the Moment, Irish Butter, KerryGold, Rasberry Preserves, Sourdough, Summer, This is Comfort, UB - Unbalance Load, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

Saturday calls for pre-heating the toaster oven to max,  
unearthing two bricks of gold from the freezer,  
and waiting over a mug of dark roast   
while laminated frozen dough lumps  
melt into crisp-bottomed pastries.  
  
Core memories wash over me   
as my hands twist open   
a red and white plaid-lidded jar of preserves.  
Grandma's favorite brand, now mine, too.  
Load a big scoop of glistening raspberries  
and plop a syrupy spoonful   
onto my parchment paper-lined plate.  
  
A few pats of butter hold their scalloped edge   
dredged in from the table knife.  
I lift my spoon, smear jam to hot biscuit.  
As I bring the buttery glory to my lips,   
I hear the curdling cry of the washing machine,  
my peace pierced through by that shrill tone   
that can only mean  
"UB" - Unbalanced Load.  
That is, a near future of cold,   
slimy wet arms up to my elbows,   
fighting to free a knotted lump of bed linens   
in the groaning washer.   
  
I squeeze my ears shut:  
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"   
Chores beg for me,   
but I stake my claim to this moment.  
They will have to wait, just a bit.  
  
I bite a corner off my baked good.  
Molten butter drips down my chin  
while I pretend that I am fully here.  
If not convenient, if not peaceful,  
"This is comfort," I tell myself.