love. thank you.
inhales and exhales thought consciously remembering
how easy love could arrive. how it meant something to thank you.
all of that, before
a ballon threatened to pop beneath your rib cage each time and you stopped even listening to your breath
and you couldn’t concentrate and suddenly it’s years later and here you are, recalling
love squeaks past the elephant on your chest and you don’t feel there’s enough air to let out thank you.
you start to wonder if this will last forever. you start to wonder when it will ever go away.
and then you remember why it is hard to accept that love would want to be there and why maybe you can’t believe you have to say thank you because it isn’t easy and that when all of it shifts you will have to embody those two things because you will have learned something useful and it dawns on you to ask,
what is it you are trying to tell me?
and it doesn’t answer right away, or it does, and you don’t speak the language yet [love], but this is a start [thank you]
even if you never get there, and your time is spent putting things in the wrong places (chocolate chips in pie crust and browned bits in butter and sea salt on sweet things and taking a slice for yourself before the big event)
it is coming
love. thank you.
You know, the best things I’ve encountered are unassuming. Perhaps a bit rough around the edges. Dirt-colored pie crust crumbling on its way to a plate.
I suppose I have seen many things go unplanned in one direction or another since we met.
[It’s been a long time.] And I was thinking-
perhaps a trip down Memory Lane will do us both some good.
Remember that time we had Colorful Kapusniak? That was tasty. And, Zucchini Pizza with Lemon and Chives. Crying. Also, when I drove around Minneapolis dropping off slices of Atlantic Beach Pie for everyone. Because priorities. See also: Warm Spaghetti Squash-ta Salad with Beurre Meunière, Tomatoes, and Feta. Dead. Ugh, and those zingy Quick Pickled Red Onions! And, remembering my dad with my Hibiscus Herbal Tea. Then, mending hearts with Lemon, Mint, and Rose Tea.
We’ve been through a lot together. I made this to celebrate, because surely
the only thing that can make brownies better (and I have done my research) is turning them into pie????
Buttery, crumbly, espresso-ed pie crust meets sea-salt topped, pecan-ed, fudge-y brownie goo. Slightly too much crust, like all pies ought to have. Sightly underdone in the middle, like all brownies ought to be. Because, we’ve been doing this thing for six years now, and I think we all know to do what we like.
thank you for following. Wishing you a future filled with less hate and more. pie.
love to you
notes on trickery + jack-o-lanterns on oreos:
I realized upon waking that I am not the same person. I have lost
the parts of me that fit, back then.
And I would not describe the loss Ideal,
nor would I admit those limbs have not been phantom, but
we are different now + i am able now
and even the cookies we knew as kids have different faces
when the world keeps turning, with or without,
changing colors and not waiting for permission to move on.
There is nothing quite like
the steam above a saucepan. A reminder,
something is brewing.
Think: an appropriate response to the warmth, with nothing
expecting anything Other. (Occurring) naturally to things in a pot, heating.
[This is all you have to do.]
Vegetables in quarters and thirds, beneath sage leaves and sprigs of thyme. Rinds saved over time. Alcohol poofs into nothingness. Behind it, savory warmth. And then, pink. Oops.