24 August 2011

Apple Pie

Apple Pie 8/24

The candle has a fake apple scent and odd red color
It sits near the stove giving off cinnamon and warm
Sickly sweet and trying to be like mom used to make
Falling wide and short of the goal

The lattice of the top
is sparkled with salt
and a trace of caramel
it opens with steam
like an egg or a present

In the back of the green and white house
that my mother's parents have always lived in
as far as I remember
there were apple trees

They filled with small hard green fruit
that was lumpy and strange looking
that seemed inedible that were
just waiting to poison a child

Always thought the red Runts were apples but they are apparently cherries

I slice the apple slowly
lay it out on the blue plate
and fill the small bowl
with honey

The plate will sit on the counter
and the people will take the slices
and the year will restart
will burn off the old

The cider tastes like the clear water feels
it is cold and clear and fresh
everything you think it will be

These little fists
that look like rosehips

Bang against the windows
of the sky

And slowly weigh
every branch down

No comments:

Post a Comment