Recipe Poem

A Poem for 3 Seasons 

Dream through the cold winter of ripening fruit.

When boats are shrouded in snow,

when branches snap themselves into kindling

sit before a fire and remember the taste, the texture

Of figs

When winter curtsies to spring and leaves by the back door

pull on a sweater and stand near her greening branches

and offer blessings for her fecundity

Bless earth, bless rain, bless sunshine

Bless figs

It is hot now. Summer is full upon us.

walk to her side and feel the power of a July sun

see her strain under the weight of unripe fruit

Explore her high branches – the ones closest to the sun

It is there waiting for you.

Your fig

About the Author

I sat at the table in the little house next to the creek that was also just beginning to thaw and wrote. Pye Dives for the Oarlock Getting Baptized What I Left Behind Running Fishing With Mama They made their way from memory to story and then I stopped. I pushed aside Life Story and went kayaking on the creek now completely thawed and filled with spot and sailboats fishing boats and swans and just a few jellyfish. When I started again I wrote in a tiny room I could hardly breathe in that room. But I wasn’t there to breathe I was there to write. Back To Embudo Stephen Moves Into His Studio And I Get Drunk Mama Dies The Festival I added story like a child adding ornaments to an already full tree. Which was my favorite? Where did it belong? “I remember when I collected this one.” “I don’t care for that one any more but I cannot discard it yet.” Some had poetry. Some had pictures. Some even had recipes. Quince Preserves. NC Bar-b-queue. Collards. It was a feast. I fed bits of Life Story to friends then to strangers who swallowed it whole and said “May we have some more, please?” I gave it to them and went back to make more Life Story. When it was finished I sent Life Story on a journey with only a flimsy letter to keep it company. I was disappointed when Life Story came home with an even shorter rejection letter.

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