Elderberry Tale

 

In loving memory of my maternal Granny.

 

Elderberry Tale

 

Once upon a time at summer’s end,

without specific plans to fill my day,

I sauntered to her house. I would pretend

I’d never heard the stories of the way

 

the week divided into different chores.

Her gravel voice and knotted hands explained

the wringing of the wash, the hard-scrubbed floors,

the kneading and the knitting. As she strained

 

the mash of berries, crimson droplets bled

in trickles to a saucepan on the stove.

The secret’s in the knowing how, she said,

to measure sugar, cinnamon and clove.

 

For happily-ever-afters, her advice

has come in handy. As I stir my brew –

the cauldron simmering with sweet and spice –

I add a pinch of snail, a frog or two.