food · motherhood · poetry

Custard Pie

The custard slouches beautifully,shrugging off the crust as a suggestion, not a rule.It’s just the right thickness, as if to say, “I am satin and sugar but also substance, understand?”The “smoochie kisses,” as my daughters call them, tumble as they will.The crust, a form-follows-function sort, does its job with integrity.I’m pleased with this pie.I press… Continue reading Custard Pie