In May I poke eleven pie pumpkin seeds into dirt.
I bless them into a star shape in that limed bed, another year.
I wonder if I’ll be here at harvest. I haul myself up,
grab onto a rusted scaffold for the vines to climb, drape
into the summer winds, mingle with wrens. Glad to be here
as their heart leaves sway into dry Augusts
and mildew in September.
Today four pies bake in my oven, scent of sugar, cinnamon,
ginger, cloves, a pad of crust. Winter’s noon sunshine
pierces the clear vase of the last orange-blush rose above the sink,
graces my dappled pies cooling for delivery to our gathering –
four young children who, stuffed with yeasty rolls and raspberry jam,
will make room for whipped cream and pumpkin pie,
maybe only whipped cream.
On the front porch, four more pie pumpkins hunker
out of the freeze, thick of rind, slight
of seed, juicier than jack-o-lanterns.
For later, a second thanking,
glad to be here now.
***
Tricia Knoll is a Portland, Oregon poet who has maintained a garden all her life, sowing the seeds of sanity. She grew up admiring her mother’s roses and vegetable garden. She is an Oregon State University Master Gardener. Her chapbook Urban Wild is available from Amazon and focuses on interactions between humans and wildlife in urban habitat. Her book Ocean’s Laughter will be out from Aldrich Press in spring of 2016. The poetry in Ocean’s Laughter reflects on environmental issues related to a small town on the Oregon coast. For links to many published poems, visit website: triciaknoll.com
