Flute the Edges

My summer project was learning how to bake pies. I’d already told everyone about it. How if, come Fall, they had a hankering for a slice, all they’d have to do is call and I’d be pulling one from the oven.

If I had a windowsill, I’d said, they could bet on finding a pie there.

Some nights I wondered why I wanted to make them. Maybe it was some kind of bargain. Oh Lord, I’d never said, but maybe thought, just before falling asleep, if there was one wholesome thing I did, would that make my life less terrible?


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