One Layer

“Just make one layer,” you say, kind and wise,

As I fret about tiers and time and tasks undone.

Your voice carries years of knowing and knowing me,

How I pile expectations high as wedding cakes

When one layer of sweetness would do.

We discuss the physics of frosting,

The geometry of joy divided into slices,

And because we both know

The weight of every headline,

The depth of every loss,

I can speak of sprinkles, speak of spatulas,

Of birthday wishes, simple things—

Because you hold the harder truths with me,

These domestic details become possible,

These gentle talks of cake and children,

This sharing of the small and precious things.

Some weights cannot be halved or shared,

But your knowing makes them bearable—

How you hold the whole world with me

While helping me set down

This one small decision.

“One layer,” I repeat, and feel

Something ease within my chest,

Like honey dissolving in warm tea,

Like gratitude for you, who understand

Both the simple and impossible,

Who make space for birthday joy

Stephanie Pell is a 2025 graduate of Lilith’s New 40 Project, which mentors an annual cohort of emerging writers between ages 40 and 120.