Page 24 - WTP Vol. XIII #1

desmA sheerer
Strawberry Cupcakes
I still had my breasts on the day I made
the strawberry cupcakes and frosted them
with buttercream vanilla icing. I packed them
in the little red cooler next to two bottles of
water and your homemade bruschetta and
the tiny tupperware of marinara sauce with
its chunks of tomato. We listened to our
favorite songs on the drive to Pawley’s Island, singing loudly and letting the wind carry our
voices out the windows. I imagined myself
without breasts, without hair, dead, and sang louder. We spread our blanket under a steely
sky, wrestled with the wind that blew my
hair into my eyes and mouth as I talked to you
and I was irritated then sad for being irritated
at something I was going to lose. So we
watched the waves quietly, gray water, gray
sky, white noise. When I bit into the cupcake
I tasted sweet strawberry and vanilla on my
tongue and ground the salty sand between my teeth. You declined yours on account of the grit.
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Sheerer has published work in DASH Literary Journal, 34th Paral- lel, and Adanna Literary Journal, and is a previous contributor to The Woven Tale Press. She is currently working on her first novel and a collection of poetry. She lives in upstate New York.