apple pie

i am worn out from arguing with my mother
so
i walk to my father’s house
it is quiet here
the only other soul a small bug
walking across the countertop
as i eat baby carrots and hummus
i can hear the hum of the refridgerator
and the swish of my saliva as i chew
carrots makes the same crunching
noise as the apples my mother and i
used to pick
from our neighbors
we don’t pick apples anymore
and my father doesn’t make the family pie
anymore

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