NaPoWriMo Day 6: Magic Berries

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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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Teacher Pretty
Middle school ESL teacher, lover of pink, eater of kimchi, addicted to Etude House, expert procrastinator, meeter of 2-dimensionial popstars: Ana. That's me.

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