But Is It Art?

I made this for you

She the observant one

peeled back the lies,

the layers of false smiles.

Exposed

like microbes

in a petri dish

we could only grin.

Bluntness born of sharpness

stamped her observations.

Her columns in the paper

convictions

she held dear,

fragments like mirrors

reflecting human conditions.

Among her gifts to me

of silver chains and porcelain

Ming

she painstakingly stitched

her thoughts

her feelings

songs of light and sound -

I made this for you, she said.

While all I could do

in shame, I said,

was bake this cake for you.