She would make a cake for every celebration,

birthdays, holidays, graduations, but also

for regular visits and Saturday afternoons.

The making was so commonplace we never

bothered to learn the recipes. When she died

cakes disappeared from our lives (except

for grocery ones bought as an afterthought

or obligation). Eventually we recognized

what it had meant, her routine greeting

“I’ve made a cake.” She had been saying,

Our time together is special. This day is special.

Let’s celebrate. And so, finally, we learned

the lesson. Now, when we offer one another

a muffin, we call it cake. Wine? Call it cake.

This relationship? This life? Cake. Call it cake.