Rachel Cooks Her Last Casserole



Tonight I used an old boyfriend’s recipe.
Your friends raved. One woman,
a sweater wrapped around
her shoulders, let her perfume
waft through the house like it was invited.

During dinner, she took off her shoes
under the table, reached for the bread
and laughed while her boyfriend worked
his jaw. You handed me the basket
holding one hardened roll, asked for more.

After dinner, I lost you for an hour
while I cleared the table, started on the dishes,
blew out candles. You startled me when you
came in behind her, bringing in big
handfuls of plums, dropping one,
a small bruised thud on the floor.


Listen to this poem:


About Author

Amber Shockley was awarded Gray’s College Bookstore’s Award for Creative Writing in 2002. After a ten year hiatus during which various, sordid things happened, she reappeared as a finalist for Reed’s Edwin Markham Prize in 2012. She received her MFA in Poetry from Queens University of Charlotte in 2013. Since, she has published sporadically in print as well as in online journals and blogs. Her poetry focuses on women’s experience, poverty and mental illness.

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