Huge Pie in the Sky

Huge pie in the sky, visiting her grandparents. A lofty and crusty bake from ages ago. The chill cellar held jars. Fruits were homegrown, handpicked, canned. Humongous, it was not an average-sized pie. The gigantic pie, at least to a child that remembers, was gorged on satisfying fat-purple-blueberries. I can only imagine a taste, to take a bite out of 1950’s life. My tongue red and blue, savoring. My memory only holds my Great-Grandma in a corner chair in her daughter’s home; and a couple visits to our home with her sister. At least I remember that, but paint me purple, or let me go closer, for her granddaughter made me rhubarb pie. That’s my mama, whose Great-Grands will only mostly recollect what I surrender from the past.