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I will make a pie for Scarcity
in the kitchen of my core.
She’s been gnawing at my ribcage
since her Daddy left her poor.

She’s been crying on the hearth fire,
shoving fear up in the flue,
she has sealed up all the cupboards,
filled the windowpanes with glue.

Though her friends and patient lovers
stacked full dishes in the hall,
she has stapled down their covers,
bricking them within the wall.

So I’ve snuck into the pantry,
where she never, ever goes
and the shelves are full and shining
with the love she never knows.

We don’t need a cup of sugar
from the neighbor round the bend.
We’ve got all the blessed sweetness
that our healing heart can lend.

When I meet her at the table
I will beg her not to fight
though I know she may well suffer
if she dares to take a bite.

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