Because I can’t say it I’ll say it
        with food: leafing through
grandmother’s recipes
        handwritten like incantations,
I find one she used to make me
        when I was young; I’d forgotten
how fresh the wild berries would
        burst in my mouth, how a scoop
of vanilla ice cream would melt
        over the golden crust, how
I’d misnamed it not berry
        but faerie pie, & here in ink
is a rough line through the title,
        the new name scrawled above.
As I raid the pantry, plan
        a quick trip to the store,
I picture a time when she too
        was my age & wonder if
she were braver; as I knead dough
        I pray in a whisper, ask her
to help the crust come out right,
        wonder if she’d approve of the mouth
I’m making it for, that girl's lips
        fresh as berries & wild
to burst. So I mix in sugar raw
        as feeling, & I’ll add faeries, too,
if I have to—real faeries, still
        sparkling, & I’ll deliver it still warm
in my hot red-stained hands,
        & I’ll hold it out to you, & for one
candied moment your fingers
        will cover my painted nails
as you take it from me.

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T. Dallas Saylor (he/they) is a PhD candidate in poetry at Florida State University, and he holds an MFA from the University of Houston. His work meditates on the body, especially gender and sexuality, against physical, spiritual, and digital landscapes. His poetry has been featured in Prairie Schooner, Poetry Northwest, Colorado Review, Christianity & Literature, PRISM international, and elsewhere. He currently lives in Houston, TX. He is on Twitter: @dallas_saylor.

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