Improv "At Seven" Corey Marks

I’ll tell you what childhood was like:
a medicine that tasted like berries.
Strawberries, that grew on a vine outside Grandma’s mountain home.
The only growing that could be eaten. She would mash them
into pie juice to be poured into a crust and placed on a shelf,
only to be eaten by the dog late at night.
Medicine never tasted like pies though, only the pain of stomach contents
rushing back through to your mouth, tongue flicking back and forth
between rows of teeth, fighting bile. Grandma also knew how to ease that aftertaste:
pie.