After Derek Munson
I bake a pie for every enemy I ever make.
I pick the cherries with my friends
and have them help me with the filling.
Though companions flit in and out of my life,
I take them to the same cherry orchard every time.
I criss-cross dough strips myself,
thinking through conflicts as my fingers flick and tug,
then put the pie in the oven.
By the time it emerges,
I’m ready to talk.
I bring the pie to my enemies’ doorsteps
and chat in their living rooms
until we’re full and at peace.
Sometimes this takes a few slices,
sometimes it just takes the sight of pie.
I don’t like leaving a place with more enemies
than I started with,
but I have been shocked how easy it is to do.
Pie fixes most things,
but sometimes we lick the tin clean and don’t resolve
our disagreement.
Those days,
I drive home,
bake cookies, scones, and baklava,
and try again.