My mother
was rolling out pastry
for an apple pie
in the kitchen.
The rolling-pin
eased over
by her palms.
She looked tired.
The apples
had been cooked
and were cooling down
on the stove.
I watched her.
My sister had
taken the two babies
out in the pram.
My kid brother
was playing with toys
in the other room.
Can I have
the apple peelings
to eat?
I asked.
If you like
she said
pausing and looking
at me.
She placed
the pastry bottom
into a pie dish
and spooned apples in.
I ate the apple peelings
watching her skill.
She placed the top
of the pastry
over the apples
and smoothed it over
and the kinked
around the top
until a pattern
had formed neatly
all around.
Open the oven door
for me
she said.
I opened the oven door
and she placed
the apple pie
onto a shelf
then closed the door.
That's that done
she said.
She looked worn out
and her face was red.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 10:49 AM UTC
My mother
was rolling out pastry
for an apple pie
in the kitchen.
The rolling-pin
eased over
by her palms.
She looked tired.
The apples
had been cooked
and were cooling down
on the stove.
I watched her.
My sister had
taken the two babies
out in the pram.
My kid brother
was playing with toys
in the other room.
Can I have
the apple peelings
to eat?
I asked.
If you like
she said
pausing and looking
at me.
She placed
the pastry bottom
into a pie dish
and spooned apples in.
I ate the apple peelings
watching her skill.
She placed the top
of the pastry
over the apples
and smoothed it over
and the kinked
around the top
until a pattern
had formed neatly
all around.
Open the oven door
for me
she said.
I opened the oven door
and she placed
the apple pie
onto a shelf
then closed the door.
That's that done
she said.
She looked worn out
and her face was red.
Request permission to use this poem