8. Pies
I made two pies today,
rolling the dough,
smoothing it gently into the pie plate,
trimming, then pinching, the edge so carefully,
filling them with the rich orange mixture
that smells of
cinnamon and
mace.
I did not make a baby today,
did not carefully ingest the right nutrients,
smooth the lotion on an expanding belly,
nap happily dreaming in the afternoon,
filling my mind with beautiful
thoughts
of tiny warm body and
infinitesimal hands.
1 comment:
I'm glad you are writing these poems - it's a great way to work through your feelings.
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