by David B. Prather

Astronomers searching for the building blocks of life in a giant dust cloud at the heart of the Milky Way have concluded that it would taste vaguely of raspberries…Curiously, ethyl formate has another distinguishing characteristic: it also smells of rum.
– Ian Sample, The Guardian

Razzleberry pie,
my grandmother’s favorite,
she made it with the yield
from her own backyard vines.

Which is how I imagine
the center of the galaxy looks,
a bramble spiraled out,
each berry blossom a cluster
of stars. Way out there,

a chemical in that dust cloud
tastes of raspberries, smells of rum,
that thorny hub flinging us
around the universe, the darkness

that surrounds everything.
I’ve been thinking
about digging out her recipe,
my grandmother’s
neatly slanted handwriting

that tells me what to do
and how to do it. I’ve been thinking
about adding a shot of liquor to the mix
and serving it as a memory

to what family remains, see
if they notice a difference,
see if they remember the way
I do, with the bodies of ants
and the stingers of bees.