In the seven minute car ride to the airport, at least six and a half minutes were spent pondering where to grab you for our final hug. Am I supposed to somehow reach over a foot higher than my head to get to your shoulders? I’m wearing platform Converse - is ten inches more doable? But since I’m short, should I be going for the waist? Suddenly I can’t remember what our other hugs have looked like....

“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!”

I’m yelling it at myself in the mirror. My therapist told me to visualize my happiest self - I am wondering what they look like.

What they do.

If they remember when to eat.

If they eat.

I wonder how often they check their side profile.

This is what she told me to do - replace the conversation with myself. Replace the thoughts. I’m tryi...

before Makena’s Cupcakes came to the market,

there was Amish Pretzels and Snacks of Sally,

rows and rows of freshly picked berries,

and local bakers for miles.

they didn’t need Makena,

or the fondant landscapes

on each pretty little cupcake she made.

life in the market was content.

Alek had regulars who bought

his sliced turkey every day.

Mary sold her soup in solace.

all was well.

but then ...