(for Pia Sieroty Spector)

Pia brought lemon cake
to the writing loft tonight,
and even before I set out
the rest of the snacks

(because people write better
fed, I always say—not least me)

I am ogling the spongy
triangles, their backsides
coated with a delicate glaze,

imagining a slice on a purple
paper plate sidling up to a few
blueberries, opposite the hummus
neatly corralled by small carrots
and cauliflower pieces,

a few almonds for texture,
a still life of snacks jostling
in my head, and I cannot resist:

Even before I start the writing
session, before I load up a plate
and take it with me to my spot
at the table,

I snag a slice, feel my teeth sink
into the gentle waft of lemon
gracing my palate, making me
smile because lemon does
that, along with a soft-tempered
summer evening spent writing
with lovely humans.

I do not know who engineered
this life to land me here and now
with people putting words onto
pages—and lemon cake—but
I owe someone a ginormous
thank you.

Tonight, Pia, it’s you.