Plum Pie

By Cameron Turner

For Eunice Marie Thornburg 1919-2014

The crust you made was always flaky, always buttery,

but as you always said, “the crust is only important

by association. Without the filling it is nothing.”

And so we roll the dough and shape the edges

like waves along the rim of the pan and fill it with

the black and blue innards of plums. We try

not to watch it bake because of your folklore

and nearly kill ourselves sprinting for the oven

when the timer goes off. And we eat in silence,

heads low over steaming slices of your lost magic

and say, “It’s good, but…”

It isn’t until later we find out you always used

a different kind of plum.