Magic - Steve Trenam

[Larry Robinson]

Magic

When I was about eight-years-old,
I would ride my bike to my 
grandmother’s small house
on the corner of Fourth and G.

Once there, I was expected
to pull weeds out of Nana’s lawn,
which was mostly Bermuda grass.
When I had worked all morning,
I got stung by a bee
and Nana made a poultice
out of Witch Hazel and dirt.

She said, “That’s enough for today,
Steven. Come in, and I’ll show
you some magic.”

We walked through her house
into the kitchen where she had set,
on her black and white tile counter,
a deep conical yellow bowl
with a long-handled wooden spoon
lying next to it.

The bowl was filled with cream.

“Now Steven, as a reward for your
hard work, I’m going to let you
use my magic spoon 
to turn this bowl of plain milk
into the best butter you ever tasted.”

She showed me how to use the spoon, 
and I began beating the cream,
waiting for the magic to happen.
It did not happen quickly.

I told Nana my arm was
going to fall off.
She said, “Not all magic happens
with the wave of a wand.
Keep beating.”

Gradually, the cream began
to thicken—the spoon and I
were one.
We were turning plain milk
into butter!

Nana lifted two lids off the fire
in her Wedgewood stove 
and placed slices
of freshly baked bread
over the holes.

When the toast was ready,
she gave me her mother’s 
silver knife to spread the butter.
She then opened a jar of Point
Reyes huckleberry jam
she had made that summer.

We sat on the front porch steps
and savored the fruits of our labor.
Pulling weeds had led to magic.

	- Steve Trenam
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