Who knew the pecans
float to the top of
the pie? Who knew —
When a knife comes
clean it is done?
While I record
that the sun
is making a sun
dog of the scrubbed
tea kettle, another
heat rises from
glowing coils to
make it whistle
As plans radiant in
my burnished
mind cells, listing
my menu of fat,
sweet, heat,
salt, fiber, roasted
roots, fermentation
in a glass, where
it may be served
next to despair
and longing on a
smoothly worn
table, each already
consuming the oxygen
in the room, devouring
a contented future
before my eyes
Until the windwags her shadow
across the stovetop,
teases the now whistling
tea kettle, and bounces
unashamed endurance
into my eyes, unboughed
patience into my sinews
caught roasting in introspection, she
smiles at my naivety
and whispers,
“Get on with it…”
Who knew the pecans
float to the top of
the pie? Who knew —
When a knife comes
clean it is done?
Virginia Schultz lives in the Ponderosa/Doug Fir forest above the Boulder Valley spinning ideas, associative thinking, writing poems, watching birds and connecting. Reciprocity. When she comes down to town… she runs, plans and makes more connections.
