My mother
Bakes her memories
into pastries
We eat them sweet
And we know how the city smelled
How she laughed
How her diaries burned
How the plane soared away from anything she knew
And here, we add more sugar
Because tasting her sadness is too too
Bitter for suburban tongues.
Bakes her memories
into pastries
We eat them sweet
And we know how the city smelled
How she laughed
How her diaries burned
How the plane soared away from anything she knew
And here, we add more sugar
Because tasting her sadness is too too
Bitter for suburban tongues.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
despurlock
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