lemon pie

your mother having forgotten
your birthday
at the age of twelve
runs out to the grocery store
to buy you a cake.
she's crying
when she carries in the lemon
pie, boxed with a plastic window,
the meringue
bouncing stiffly
on top of the bright
yellow jell.
they only had pie, she
says, is that okay?
you nod, and say yes. you
want her to stop crying.
she sticks in twelve
candles, lights them,
and everyone gathers
at ten o'clock at night
to sing happy birthday.
you tell her that lemon pie
was what you always wanted,
which makes her happy.
it's been lemon
pie forever since.