Not my food any more
it was before, only Mama
could make it just right.
The secret she would say
was “in the crust.”
The buttery, flaky
forked, pinched
around the pan
delight, full of
fresh shelled pecans
floating to the top,
filling up the kitchen,
on holiday mornings
with a scent that made
it hard to go back to
sleep and wait for the
breakfast slice with a cold
glass of egg nog.
My favorite treat,
in my favorite place,
with my best friend.
Mama seemed to know
how to make everything
wrong, right.
Then the time came
when I could not tolerate the sugar.
It was sweet, oh
so sweet, yet it
was not good for me.
I tried to make a
sugar free one,
but it wasn’t the same.

There is no substitute, it’s true.
However, what I
have finally come
to know and make
peace with is
I need more than
syrupy nuts and
the crust in my life
to make it sweet
and complete.
Some men are like
Pecan pie and
you will know
when it is time to
say good-bye.