The bakery is closing
on the day my daughter’s marriage swirls
down the drain like the last crumbs
of wedding cake. Sixteen years ago
we sat, she and I, on a patio in the sun
on College avenue in Oakland, sampling
bite-sized squares of wedding cakes:
moist gateaus, chiffons, tortes, bundts, dacquoise,
tasting a future exquisite as lemon icing.
Katrina, offering sips of tea between bites,
described the textures—we savored them
as years of love. A happy life. Live flowers
to decorate life’s layers. And now…
today, the day that bakery shuts its doors,
her door will close, the locks will change.
He’s gone.Her heart has closed
behind the clumps of frosting-soiled flowers.
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