The Cake Maker

—for Evelyn Blair

Each pulled rose

became a gift,

built in wild


by an aging hand.

Hundreds of brides

on the eve

of forever-changed lives

wanted her work

to be their final stand—


a beautiful imperfection

of lace and lattice

and lily,

as asymmetric

as life often is.


She died last night,

passed into the ether,

melted into the mouth

of eternity

like one of her flowers—


sweet on the tongue,


fading, fading,

then gone.

—Kevin Marshall Chopson


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