“Cake for My Birthday” (written in Dec 2002)
Why do we eat things we can’t identity? Because of creamy centers That are spicy and glamorous Like feathered boas Polished with glitter. It’s because of pearl lace draped cakes – In shawls that drip fringe from Snowflake patterns into spirals That turn And turn And turn, Bow, And then curtsy. It’s to find the extra little something That coats the tongue silver Like the maker That blows charms and mints Into a brew. It’s about the charming way It can’t be denied. It’s about the denial that gets Tossed under floral rugs. It’s about the necessity Of another slice. It’s about leftovers That touch glasses And request another toast. So let us join them. For champagne and strawberries, Poetry and politics, And last bites, That make it easier to ignore The crumb decorated platter Of whatevers and once weres.
Author’s Note: I wrote this poem for a college class. Then several years later, I had just moved in with a new roommate. She came back to our shared space one weekend to tell me how one of her friends knew me!
“She even found this poem by you,” my roommate explained. It was “Cake for My Birthday.” This meant one of my classmates had kept the poem close enough that she could find it. Also, that she remembered it.
I like to remember how art has effects you can never even imagine.