3.14.22
Tonight, instead of serving pie,
I serve the memory of pie—
serve the memory of pumpkins
we grew in the garden
then processed into custard.
Serve the memory of years
we made gluten-free crusts.
Serve the memory of your rhubarb plant
that will rise more robust this spring,
memory of thinly sliced apples,
key limes, lemon merengue,
and all those tart cherries
we harvested together.
I serve the joy we shared
in celebrating a constant
necessary to the geometry of the world.
I serve the thrill in knowing
there is something
both transcendental and infinite,
something death can never touch,
something ubiquitous that defines
the world we inhabit.
And though it is math,
it is no less love,
something that helps us
understand our universe,
something that hints
at the grand design
that amidst great catastrophe
continues to hold it all together.