what feels like messing up. sometimes forgetting,
sometimes being afraid. over mixing, and never
the right apparatus to carry the cake through a
hot crowd. dense and white, full of nectarines
and strawberries, covered in cream and marigolds,
so heavy, so melting, the whole thing slid around so I
set it in the bramble while we waited to sing.
orange zest blender cake at the beach where
the woman stood with baby shoes but no baby,
where it always feels like someone might emerge from the woods,
puncture the saccharine scene with a hex or a shot.
quiche at the housewarming, J + I stopped en route to take selfies
because we looked pretty. red shirt I loved with the sweetheart pin,
my black flower dress with holes that don’t shut.
this month chocolate for grief, for winter, for the unthinkable,
skinny and dense, 2 layers, mom’s coastal blackberries
slathered between.
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