for Laura Martin

It occurs to me that I’ve never asked—
you, the Pie Lady, about your favorite kinds,
you who bake them for holidays and
occasions, for friends—

and what flavor might I assemble for you?
A word pie of perfectly blended syllables
not unlike your concoctions on the page,
I think—

that would have to contain some funny,
long-winded titles and a zombie or two,
that would taunt some and tribute others,
but would not math—

we don’t math—

and your pie would embrace an abundance
of funny, of love, of great-hearted hugs,
of all the sugar and spice of life
that is, blessedly, thankfully,

you.