It isn’t so bad and
you will be prettier and
It would make



It is so simple to spin the dial
–Smile with your eyes & make your voice high & let him carry your books even though you’re the one with enough rage coursing through you every damn day that you could lift a pickup truck–

the cherries from the wild tree Grown
Of itself, without need for validation.

the juice, dark red, into your palm

Crimson palms to your lips. Turn them up, at the edges.

Aren’t you just so pretty?

Grind the pits, pulpy with cosmetic, into a fine paste.

The ancient ones inside will tell you mortar

But your Cuisinart food processor will do just fine.

Add confectioner sugar and vanilla. Frost the cake.

When he blows out the candle, he won’t say his wish out loud.

Neither will you.

One will come true.