by Gianna Hayes ’26

And it was a sort of magic,
the way the summer
used to drag on
spinning dizzy like the
tire swing which
whirled you ’round ’til
perhaps you felt queasy.
(I know I did.)
Yes, it was some magic,
how the blue-blurred clouds
flew past like hungry larks
pecking at black raspberries
June-ripened juice staining
their needle-nosed beaks
Dad’s kitchen alchemy
forged the fruit into steamy quintessence
poured molten over vanilla ice cream.
And sometimes, quintessence
included the seeds
stuck in your teeth.

Written by

Gabriel McCreath

Gabriel McCreath is one of the Creative Section editors for the Wooster Voice. He is a Religious Studies major. He is from Waltham, Massachusetts.