Meringues
The yolks sit alone in the garbage can,
tiny suns extinguished by my own hand.
This is how I learned to hate abundance.
I whip the whites until they stiffen,
peaks forming like Fairy Chimneys
in Cappadocia, soft spires balanced
against centuries of erosion.
I’ve only seen pictures, but I wonder
what it’s like to live there,
balanced on the edge, weightless.
I fold the sugar in, slowly,
watching crystals dissolve into submission.
What I want most is to taste a sweetness
without swallowing the guilt.
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