Tap tap goes the rain
Muddy streets and thunder’s roar
flowers start to bloom
poem
3.
Footprints in the snow
a crow taps its beak, once, twice
the tapping echoes
2.
Crinkling brown leaves
squirrels bustle frantically
hills look like fire
1.
Old dreams of summer
remember birds and a cat
music in the night.
Plum Pie
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.
Have You Ever Seen
Have you ever seen
Water
Spraying from a broken red hydrant
With children playing and laughing
In the liquid prisms
While their parents and neighbors watch
And shake their heads
And remember a time
When they could splash through streets
Free of sirens.
