Padded footsteps on the stairs at dawn found you
long awake, barricaded behind an angry wall of work
Words were of no use – I turned to the cupboard
Flour dust, salt and leaven, the secret dash of ginger
then butter, cream, and the patient press of hands
To shape
and smooth
and wait
Then: a ripe orange volunteer from our garden; the pumpkins
grow here unbidden – perhaps they know their part in our home?
Split open on the kitchen altar and sacrificed
With brown sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg
In a cauldron of autumn colors,
bubbling with sweet enticements
To soothe your bristling gaze
Finally: the incantation complete,
with nothing left but time
and the oven’s warmth
I watch from the corner and wait
for a sign
There has been no room for words in these cold spaces
So I have spent the entire morning
saying “I love you.”
[10 Oct 2010 – it’s always a good day to make pumpkin pie. Even if nobody’s in a bad mood]
David Pablo Cohn 
Thanks for this piece of pumpkin pie. I agree. Every day is good for pumpkin pie, especially one from garden to crust. I think I will pad to the kitchen….
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