my homegirl elsah found a pear tree
on her brother's property,
and it was bursting with bounty on it's burgeoning boughs.
reddish green-skinned organically activated fruits
are exactly what i was hoping for a bucket of.
and i made the most of 'em.
four pairs of pared pears, in a pot.
maple syrup, and cinnamon and nutmeg, and allspice,
and cloves, and ginger, and brown sugar, and butteryish pats,
cooked into a slick thick sauce of fruit and flavor for our faces.
poured on top of a prebaked oatmeal cookie in a pan?
keeps the pear juices from spilling out and spoiling it.
i covered it in sticky coffeecakey battery blops,
spread out and stacked up and awaiting a topcoat of sugary blops.
oatmeal and homeground oat flour, and three kinds of sugar and spices?
i'm 'bout that sh!t.
that's four layers of F*ing goodness.
check the it's-still-august-type teleport:
i'm not afraid to savage a stacked square of seasonally preemptive
bakery-fresh good times into my horsetoothed maw.
that's a thing.
cookie. cobbler. coffeecake. crumbtop.
a spiced pear late-sumertime old-timey grandma jauns.
i'm really pretty psyched on it.
there are always treats,
because that's what happens when poetry leaves the page,
and manifests it's fluid form in pots and pans.
hot fire and cast iron and whole grains an' that.
it's all really happening, every day;
never quiet, never soft.....