Like Cherry Pie
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No water, no water, no water.
The grass crispy as curly fries
& I’m out of a job. I’ve given up
on daylight as a cure all. Snake oil.
Sure: black & yellow, kill a fellow.
But the copperhead was shiny
& pretty as a penny found
heads up. She didn’t like my shoes.
I’m so fucking tired
of doing the same old things
all summer: dangling
our feet in pissy pools,
disguising a hiccup with
a belch. Lady fingers?!
Jesus, there’s no independence
in that. Bottle rocket, mortar,
boom! I’ll make you a halo
with sparklers if you sit still.
Not everyone plans
to shoot the moon.
We can go down to
the South Fork & I’ll catch you
fresh trout with my bare
hands, like the Indians
used to do. They were so quiet,
the fish thought they were
merely shadows made
from a passing sun.
I thought you were a tomboy.
Humble pie. Head cheese.
I’m sorry. Everything I said
used to make you laugh.

Jennifer Gresham

Jennifer Gresham ( has been called a hummingbird due to her penchant for frequent snacks.