Cherry Pie Time!

Screen Shot 2016-07-19 at 2.27.28 PMScreen Shot 2016-07-19 at 2.27.40 PMThe hot days of summer are upon us, and that means it’s time for cherry pie!  The words “cherry pie,” make me think of lost virginity, or the band Warrant – which shows my age.   And while National Cherry Pie isn’t until February 20th, summer is high time for the sweet-tart burst of cherry pie.

Our always-vegan cherry pie is Megan’s favorite of all our pies. We bake it full of a blend of cherries, organic sugar, and cardamom, then pile it high with a crumble topping or a decorative, cut out crust. It’s pretty divine. And chock full of all that fruit, it doesn’t have to be just for dessert, it’s perfect for breakfast too; cherry pie and black coffee, outstanding.

Our vegan coconut oil crusts have a special ingredient that keeps them flaky. And our crumble topping is full of spelt flour, organic sugar, vegan butter, and a whole lot of oats.

It’s going to be hot, so cool off with one of our cherry pies. You can order one via phone, email, or our online order form – we even deliver!

Literature and poetry are full of cherry imagery, so here’s a red laden, cherry referenced poem, that asks to be read again and again. Enjoy!

Our Motorbike

By Elfriede Jelinek
Translated by Michael Hofmann
rocket water
wooden moon on the roof
                                    signs of night &
                                    the red motorbike’s
                                    bleeding muscle
                                    fleshed stalk dripping
                                    and overgrowing our evening
                                    it too
                                    a sign of darkness
a leek’s fat body
the red motorbike
our night fire
ravishment of chrome
our red motorbike glazed
with henna and betel it squirts
salmon  juice between the dark
of our thighs it sprouts
and shouts at the bar
                                    it wears a portion of
                                    evening in its eye
                                    it sloughs off sleep like
                                    the bushes drop resin &
our rags dip purring in
even redder roar
our muscles softly skip sweet
sweat flickers we polish
carefully &
assiduously our eyes are perched
on steel antennae surely there is
nothing redder than our motorbike
                                    we will live on it
                                    our red tent
                                    dig our claws into
                                    its heart cherries meat it
                                    shouts out
                                    spittle rip
                                    the juice instructs
                                    the eyes
                                    in the language of iron
the red night squats
pressed against our motorbike
we ride hunting little girls
in the wooden sky
Thanks for reading ~ Trilety


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