Have Some Pie
Emily Gordon
You say you like my baking.
(It’s a new preoccupation.)
Months later, you bring up my pie.
I present you with cookies. They came
out oddly. Gently grated peels
became rough hunks of lemon rind.
You swallow but look disappointed.
So let’s get down to it.
You can have more pie:
one slice for a wet open kiss,
a tongue like a scallop of dough,
lips slippery as hot cherries.
It’s been too long and you look hungry.
For a whole pie, you’ve got options:
lick a place small as a wild blueberry,
keep your hands full of fat apples
and bite but don’t bruise them,
warm up the oven to 350 degrees.
Let’s lay this lattice. Have some fun.
Stick a fork in it. I’m done.
Emily Gordon grew up in Wisconsin and California and is a longtime journalist and editor. Her poems have also appeared in The Baffler, The Women’s Review of Books, Painted Bride Quarterly, Indie Soleil, HIV Here and Now, Transition, and the Toronto Globe & Mail. She lives in New Haven, Connecticut, and is a sound improviser for the Dirty Little Secrets show in New York City.