She wilts against the cabinets,
One flour-white hand flees from the dough
To clutch at her chest

In the oven the turkey warms, browned and stuffed
Below a rack of two pies reincarnated from the pages of O Magazine
French silk pumpkin and ginger pecan.

When she falls, the floor is warm against her cheek
From there her eyes flutter heavenward
Towards measuring cups and a green bean casserole
Resting on the towering countertops

Rattling ragged breaths
So light, so terrified as she
Realizes the pies will burn

- by Lily Mann