Pecan Pie

After the storm walloped the coast

and before it spun itself out like a

weary dervish in the mountains to

the west of here,


it took the pecan tree by the throat

and showing not a lick of mercy

throttled it ‘til the entire harvest

was flung down.


It’s too early for them to cover so much

ground, mounded in heaps of green

amid root and moss, their flesh still

thick and unyielding.


You gathered them anyway,

hauled them to the sink and washed the

grit away, then arrayed them with hope

on a yellow towel to dry.


May they ripen into sweetness,

shells hard and crackable, because

the pie you’re bound to make will taste

better if it’s brown instead of green.


©Dana Hughes 9.20.17


One thought on “Pecan Pie

  1. You do this better than anyone: end with some little sly grin of a comment that makes everything alright. The first time I saw this was “Old Man with Cracker” where “we’re going to need a lot more butter,” but here it is again A storm-wrenched tree, and I’m thinking of all the storm wrenched lives that have dumped their load and fled for higher ground, and along you come, gathering all the nuts and laying them out to dry because “it tastes/ better if it’s brown instead of green.” Just wonderful. This one follows a stricter rhythmic structure than most of your poems, I think. Are you experimenting?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s