the ten pound cake

the plate is beautiful.
gleaming in stitched colors
of yellow and green,
but it's not about the plate,
it's the cake, heavy
and frosted, thick
and round, symmetrically
baked by caring hands,
it must weigh at least
ten pounds. her arms bend
as she carries in laughing.
I baked you a caked
she says, leaning over
it to kiss your cheek
and enter. by evenings
end, there is still nine
pounds left, at least.
you are filled with the batter
of vanilla and eggs,
flour and sugar, butter.
hot water is the secret
she says. don't tell anyone.
your lips are iced
with it, crumbs line
your shirt. you are happy
with this cake, and full.
the world, sometimes, is
a decadent place to live in.