I baked myself a cake
the way you would have.


I didn’t realize what I was doing at first,
as I grated the beets,
purple juices staining my hands.


I remember the first time you made it;
we were both amazed by the beautiful pink batter,
and equally as surprised when it came out of the oven
a different colour; no pink remaining.

I thought of that as I pulled my own cake out,
chocolate brown and steaming.

As I shook the rainbow sprinkles over top,
I realized I was mothering myself;
replacing your absence with an unconscious recreation of
birthdays past.




Who am I to you now -

A cake you painstakingly baked,
only to pull it out of the oven and see it didn’t come out
as you expected;
all the pink gone?


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vjochum's picture

Nearly speechless


Loved this


Reparenting the love she gave. 

Brought me to tears.

Thank you for sharing. 

Incompl's picture

I loved the tenderness of

I loved the tenderness of this, as someone with a strained maternal relationship, I felt it deeply. 

Let your teeth show