The Alchemy of Maple Syrup

A Poem of Spring

In early spring,
the little buds at the treetops call down,
cry out their thirst
like the children they are…
call out for the sweet joy of earth
to feed them,
nourish them,
call them into being
the way all mothers do.

*

I’ve seen the sun melt the snow,
soften the ground. Birds sing.
Now I know: It is spring
and the sap is running.

*

We believe the trees don’t mind,
that the holes we drill
are like skin pricks, a little ouchy,
but not a big deal.
Maybe we are right.
Yet on consideration,
I think each hole
deserves a proper gratitude.

*

I love carrying buckets the most
when the sky is that gorgeous blue,
inviting me to imagine
anything at all—and I always do.

*

We watch the steam rise
and disappear. We see
the bubbles churn. Isn’t that
what it boils down to
for all of us? Getting to
the sweetness of our souls?

*

I’ve stood under that blue sky.
And also in the dark and cloudy night.
I’ve been up too late in the wind
trying to finish one last bottle of sweetness.

*

With the water gone,
one step remains. Filter out
those impurities, clarify the syrup
to its golden perfection.
And isn’t this how we finish our lives, too?
Filtering out the remaining impurities
to create a sweet clarity
that could—as far as we are concerned—
last forever?

*

Keeping the syrup at temperature,
I pour it into bottles.
I put the caps on, mark the labels.
With the work complete,
the door closes one final time.

*

The work of this season is done.
Sweetness puts a smile
on my shimmering face.
Gold has emerged from raw earth.
And I am ready to dissolve
into the nothingness that we all are.

Anthony Signorelli

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I hope to publish a poem each Saturday morning for your reading pleasure. Please feel free to share as you see fit!