IT'S PIE DELIVERY DAY

 

IT’S PIE DELIVERY DAY,

and I take two slices of apple

and one of raspberry-

blackberry combination,

one slice of apple,

with cake flower added

to help with crust,

an experiment, to my brother,

back crimp-crippled

from chair-rising wrong,

along with minestrone soup;

whole mock-raspberry

to Sporthaus staff

(boarded-up front door--

use side-entrance),

cleaning up after break-in,

walk by dumpster

and grief-debris

(may that hidden layer of sugar

and butter droplets tucked

under crust caution them before

glass shards too small to vacuum)

I’m their conduit to children

too poor to access mountains

for pleasure in warm clothes,

along with skis so they can ski!

Finally apple slices from two pies

for Terry and Jane

on Sunflower Hill, each crust

different, different, not evolved,

with this question, Which

do you prefer for those sour cherries,

who come from trees

even now, with roots preparing for June?

This is pie delivery day, a mountain day,

and from Sunshine Hill, Jane directs me

straight across Schuler Grade downhill,

stopping at Stop sign, taking hard left

after the careful look back. Passing

Featherland Ranch, lost, certain

12 West at Naches will never show,

listening to Mercedes Sosa sing,

Buenos Aires, live,

from 20 years ago. I pull off

and put in Gary Snyder reading

Mountains and Rivers Forever,

Snyder pulling into Ranger Station

in Packwood. Dogen

speaking on hunger and painting,

it’s the same paint, he says,

painting rice cakes, painting mountains.

Do you want to become a real person or not?

Jim Bodeen

25 January 2022