Patti M. Walsh

Come to think of it,
wouldn’t you like some blackberry pie?
Right now?

Hi!
Can I come by
and make blackberry pie

           with you?

Top it with cream
and pack it with dreams
of succulence, decadence, merry?
Your crust or mine,
either is fine,
As long as it’s filled with berries.

Berries are fun.
They soak in the sun.
They ripen when we are not looking.
Theirs is to please
or otherwise cease
in our world of coming and going.

Sunshine and rain
and bright purple stains
oblige as essential ingredients.
Sugar and dough
mixed just so-and-so
marry these august components.

Bake until done—
but until it’s done
we’ll sit and ponder, or play;
recall the nice walk
and have a good talk
about prickers and stickers and shambles,
about longshots and stumbles,
foes, friends, idiots, bubbles,
the bits and the stings
and all of those things—
the arrows and slings
and erstwhile flings—
The hurts and the bangs and the bruises—

And then check on the runaway juices!

… While basking away
in the heat of the day
are the berries that really seduced you.

May I come by
and bake blackberry pie
           and pour ice cream all over it?

~Patti M. Walsh