Elisabeth Sweet

PIE: serves 2, satisfies none. First, prepare filling. Simmer your secrets, Cool your contempt with my soft breath — blow — wait. Mix some sugar with your sorrow, to thicken your resolve to stay. Next, make crust. Remember: coldness ensures flakiness. Pulse the pieces of our story together, until thoroughly blended and bound. Press the past into a ball — compact, make it painless. Roll out your doubt with care not to tear at fragile fears. Transfer the matter, remain delicate. Pinch together the edges of our potential. Add the filling, our fruit. Last, submit to heat. But I can’t burn for 2. I try to remind you of our flame, Tell you what you’re made of, your consistency. Conjure what you could be. But you don’t believe me, anymore. It’s not easy, anymore. You don’t see us, anymore. Love fades to smoke and I rise to remember that I don’t know how to bake and I don’t like pie.