I could make a cake
I could make a cake
and call it by your name,
smother it with candied cream,
an assembly of plastic candles.
I could choose not to blow
them out on a rush of déjà vu.
Trace a finger all around,
edges of thick-set chocolate.
Taste it. It all thickens now.
You can’t waste what you eat
and you can’t take it with you.
Sweetness might not last.
I’ll hand you the knife
to make the deepest cut.
Old memories seep on doubt,
bitter-sweet icing for the cake.
A day of gathered memories,
no longer rationed out.
Cameras clicked to preserve it all
as if night could wipe us out.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, October 29, 2020
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