Four women joined in spirit by ancient memories,

Each one tucked away under some category of food.

Hovering around hors d'oeuvre trays,

The ring of brooding good-natured witches.



Heavy smells of cream cheese frosting,

Dampens the crowded air.

As the wise women philosophize,

On those separate beings, men.

Critiques of husbands flow across the altar ...



A stray male slinks quietly across the room,

Wanting not to interfere in the ritual.

Moving toward the faint buzz of the game,

An undertone provided by the men's lair.



Conversation and cackling continues,

The ceremony resumes.

Secrets of womanhood and marriage,

Spilled generously across the table.

Countless tales are spun,

Dating back before the first Freddy's doughnut.



We, the ears of young female prodigies,

Intently cast our first memories,

While feasting from the sanctioned cauldron.