LEMON POPPY SEED CAKE - carol deminski

I eat lemon poppy seed cake in the kitchen, you fuck my sister in her bedroom. I can't understand why she has sex with you. All those parts sloshing around. Gross.

I pop seeds between my teeth, a hint of citrus on my tongue.

You pad into the kitchen, jeans clinging to your hips. Your chest is flat and hairless. We don't talk.

You get a can of cola from the refrigerator and gulp your drink down in a mouthful, leave the empty on the counter. Your tee and sneakers are on the floor. You pick them up. Take them down the hall.

Mom works at Dr. Rosenblatt's during the day and MegaMart at night. When she comes home, I'm asleep.

My sister wears eyeliner and lip gloss. Sometimes she sticks tissues in her bra. I don't tell anybody, the things I see her do.

You come out of the bedroom with your arm around her. You walk my sister outside to your moped. The engine sounds like angry bees as you buzz away.

I cut another slice. A constellation of black stars in a yellow sky. My fork is overflowing. It's there for me. So much lemony goodness.

Carol Deminski
The Bee Loud Glade
Steve Himmer