Dead Cake by Marlena Eva
“Dead Cake”, poetry by Marlena Eva #TheMetaworker
The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
Photo by David A. Goodrum
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Tomorrow is too late. I’ve been listeningto the ground lick its lips, laying plans to closeon your heart. To beat the earth, brown batter, to bake …
My Friends and I Started Having Premonitions About Future Lovers Sonia dreamt of being sawed in half by a mustached magician, rugged steel grinding rosewood …
I sometimes wonder if people are crazy or from some other planet. But I am not complaining. Why should I? Not at all. After all, …
Why do I keep the best till lastwhen eating cake;quite unlike wine.My mindful taste budsfind their pace, start marksfrom first eye-captured plate,declared by sharp seep …
At the cake bazaar,annual in the village hall –Mrs Baker’s acid voice –I stall to scan those sweetmeat plates. The granulated cog biscuits,as if surfaced …
Becca add morebutter Becca. That’s no way tomake a roux. Don’t just measure on a whim.Your flour and fat. Or fluid and fault.Meat drippings, maybe. …
Jane floats her tablecloth across the floor,sets out fruit, bread, wine, says: Here, look closely. See the red so forcefullywoven into the curtain? Mother’s blood. Scattered like …
We arrived right on time, although we had debated that. Isn’t fashionably late, well, fashionable? In the end, though, we were on time. Which was …
Peg had made good on her resolution to leave West Virginia, and here he was in San Francisco, seasonless though it was Spring, sleeping on …