PUBLICATIONS

Prose Poem in Salima Magazine 

CHEESECAKE

by Natalie Horberg (March 2021)

On a Sunday evening, I lay still, my head heavy on a pile of white pillows. A small sun appears hazily through the living room windows, its hot light seeping onto the floor. I try to synchronize my breathing to the faint tick of a car alarm outside. I fail. Days have always been longer than I want them to be. 

Then I remember: there’s a slice of cheesecake in the fridge with a lime wedge on top. It’s from Pila’s birthday party a week ago. I’ve been saving it but now I wonder if it’s gone bad, if I should throw it out. 

I open the heavy refrigerator door. Steel. Stainless. Cold. On a thin crumb-covered plate, the slice of grey cake shrinks away, struggling to avoid my gaze. I think, It’s only been a week. I carry it to the counter slowly, realizing I forgot to turn on the kitchen light. Daring me to try a bite, the lime wedge, shriveled and green, grins at me in total darkness. I stamp my foot down on the cool tile floor. The pain surprises me. It shoots up my calf through my spine. Thrusting open the silverware drawer I grab a fork and stab the cake, again and again. And it’s glorious.