NaPoWriMo Day 6: Magic Berries

On The Making of Magic Pies

For Julia

In summer

when grass dries golden as blonde-bleached hair

she departs

buckets and baskets in hand

for the woods

Under branching roofs

of fir and pine, the day keeps cool

even now

as she walks the secret paths

in search of berries

They run wild

Small cousins to brash Himalayans

The wild blackberries

of summer

She returns brimming

Sun-dappled and smelling of juice

This is when

the spell begins

First, the necessary tools

A pale pink bowl, pastry cutter

and rolling mat

Close your eyes, and smell

the dusty warmth of flour

that puffs

into that afternoon beam of sunlight

Fingertip alchemy

Unpalatable elements, transformed

to smooth dough

and burnished berries

Then, the final step—the oven

barely hotter than the summer sun

She waits

Timer ticking down to when

the spell is complete

In summer

When afternoons stretch as wide as the sea

She gathers and bakes

Filling the house

with the smell

of magic 

My stepmom Julia has always made the most amazing pies, and wild blackberry is the best of the best. I've always admired the ritual of picking berries and making pies, so when the NaPoWriMo site suggested that day 6 be a poem about food, this was the first thing that sprang to mind.

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