My Pumpkin Pie Recipe
Magicians don’t conjure up traditions,
obsessionals do. That’s how my pies
began to end every Thanksgiving dinner.
Only my daughter knows that the doses of spices
and sweet milk came years ago
from the paper wrap on a can.
The singing ingredient (two parts aria)
is for the pumpkins, the gratitude moment
when the seeds go in,
the months cajoling vines
up the pyramid of lath, celebrating
bees in the fluted yellow flower,
waiting for slow golding
of the green,
the cooking before the cooking.
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