Blackberry Pie

Walking down an old dirt road

In the middle of nowhere special,

The smell of wet dirt and grass

Mingling with the scent of flowers

I feel you there-

Just beyond the tree line,

Sticking out your tongue

Making me laugh.

I remember sitting with you

On the old floral couch,

A relic from the 70s full of dust

Making us both sneeze, but

You never let me clean for you.

You insisted ’til the end on

Doing everything for yourself:

The cooking

The cleaning

The brownie making.

Sometimes, when your arms

Grew so very tired

You would let me roll out

The dough you mixed from scratch.

You’d let me make designs on the

Crust we made together,

Marking the edges with my fork

Waiting as the scent of blackberry pie

Filled the air,

Covering up the wet leaves

And the dry branches

Swaying ominously outside.

I remember giving you the

Tightest hugs that I could give

Worrying when my arms

Came closer together

Month after month,

Watching you shrink before me,

Your back carving forward,

Bringing your blue eyes

Closer and closer

To the ground,

All those wet leaves

Strewn on the path

Blocking me from seeing you,

Keeping all that brilliant dust

Far below my feet,

The smell of blackberries

Long gone from the house.

Standing on the road

In the middle of nowhere

I can’t help but think

You are laughing somewhere

Far off in the distance

Baking brownies for Aunt Ann

Telling stories to your sisters

And your brothers that left

On a train some time ago.

I hope they are laughing

Big resounding laughs that

Shake the room,

If there is a room

Wherever you might be.

And I hope, as I walk myself back

From the dirt where you’re all

Waiting patiently to see me

That it smells like blackberries

Baking in a pie dish,

Like dust in a sofa,

Like downy in cotton

Hung out to dry.

I hope it feels like

Watermelon juice

Dripping down your chin

In the heat of summer,

Like the cold rush of the Atlantic

Washing over your skin,

Like hot tea by a fire

When the snow piles high.

I hope it feels like the tightest hugs

That you could ever hope to have,

Ever hope to give,

Ever hope to see again.

That feeling that I miss

So much that I can still taste

The flood of flavors on my tongue

Every time we baked together,

That indescribable softness

That surrounds the heart

When you feel so safe,

When you've reached a

Gentle place in a world full

Of sharp edges that prick

And pummel a person,

That warmth that floods the soul

And makes a home.

I hope it feels like that for you,

Wrapped up in the tightest hug

On the warmest day,

Sticking out your tongue at me

As if to say, “Finally,

You’re home.”