Every Christmas
she would come
with a pie in her arms.
A crosshatched crust
laced lovingly.
The sweet jewels
of cherries hidden
beneath.
A red rose blooming
in the dead
of winter.

This Christmas
I waited all day,
all night,
but there was no pie.

I tried to put
the pieces together
like she did.
Sweeten the bitterness
of the canned cherries.
Warm up the memories,
the ones inside.

It didn’t look the same.
The crust was crooked.
The red cherries
overwhelming like
the beating of a
heart.
It tasted bitter-
sweet
like the flowers on
a coffin.
Red roses wilted
long ago
or maybe blooming
forever
in my heart.