Pie Bird

He smiles
as apple pie smells
reach our shadowed room
from the oven

on steam
forced through
an open-mouthed pie bird
pricking the crust

its red erect body
half submerged
in fragrant bubbles
like hot soft breath

the pie shell
hardens and browns
melting apple slices
almost liquefy within

barely keeping their shapes
radiating and infusing
above and below
with sweetness

We laugh and whisper
while the pie bakes
our heated names
floating above our heads

I know it’s done
when I feel the bird’s
slight whistle in my ears
like a gentle tongue

Get the pie, he whispers
I fetch the pan and place it
on the bedroom sill
to cool

Sharon Israel