1. Pick each berry into the
bucket. Remember the
grapes. Remember how
she used to squeeze them
between her fingers.
2. Pour the water into the bucket, picking out the leaves, the pebbles, the tadpoles you thought you caught
when you were young.
3. Pour yourself into the bucket, feeling the heat of the sun against your naked back. Clean yourself and
the berries raw and red.
4. Dry in the sun. Shrivel into your skin mixed into the peels of each berry.
5. She will say, I love you, but.
6. She will say, I want to be with you, but.
7. Mix flour, milk, and honey for the crust. Build it thick but light.
8. You will say, I understand. But.
9. Lay the dough over the pie pan, pressing it down into the tin and cutting away the excess hanging over
the lip. Make sure it all sticks. Make sure each movement matters.
10. Mash yourself, the strawberries, raspberries, and blackberries, mixing the juices and skin, seeds and
muscle, pulp and powdered bone until fully incorporated.
11. Pour the you-and-berry mix into the pie tin. Lay the dough over this, poking holes into the top for
ventilation. Feel the knife slide in deep and quick and deserving.
12. Place in the oven, 350o for 20 minutes, until the crust is golden brown, flaky.
13. Remember the dream you had? It was night and you sat by the pool with her, taking pictures, smiling
into each other’s cameras so you could boast to the world. Remember in the dream how her hair smelled,
how your legs bumped together in the water? Remember how you woke confused that she wasn’t there,
lying in the curve of your legs, the cold of her ear against your lips?
14. When you finish, hot and syrupy and purple as bruises, remember that it is okay to love her. When
you cool down in the flaky crust, remember that some dreams are only meant to be just that. Remember
that there is sadness in love.
15. Serve immediately with powdered sugar or ice cream.