Thursday, November 2, 2017


Editor Kathy Kieth of Medusa's Kitchen published this poem in October.  Thank you again, Kathy!

Creating "Apples"

Many cannot resist the sweet taste of a fresh apple. I, however, cannot eat one unless it is somehow cooked, so ,why not in pies such as those of my childhood?


The orchard photos remind me.
pictures of trees bearing apples,
apples as crisp as the fresh chill air
that surrounds them while they dangle.

From my grandmother's kitchen
was produced a hallmark of autumn,
a standard pulled from ovens
and set on windowsills to cool,
a treat made with the utmost care and love.

unfastened from trees by my grandmother's hand
became something quite grand,
when plucked and tucked within the confines
of pie pans embossed with beautiful designs.

released from twirling peels, sliced and laid flat
with cinnamon sugar filling poured over them,
thumb-pressed edges confining the treasure within
until that first forkful.

Within the time of falling leaves and desiccation,
what magic lay within those crunchy balls
so that always the juices would run around
that heated pie plate and your mouth?

Only one thing more
transformed these rich shades of autumn harvest
into the finest culinary creation,
melty whipped cream swirling among
flecks and flakes of crust and fruit.

whenever autumn rolls around,
I smell and taste and remember.

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