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Apple Pie

by Angela Thomas

I spend hours peeling, coring, slicing up bitter apples.
A little lime keeps them from spoiling.
Sugar, cinnamon, and some corn starch, to thicken, go in.
I will stir them until they boil up just right.
You have to scortch them a little to make them sweet.
I will use my hands to crush a crumb-meal like crust into a pie plate.
The apples are then placed precisely so to look like a flower.
More crumb topping gets pressed on top.
Unfortunately, I will, more than likely, burn my hand as I take it out.
Hours of cool winter air will make the pie cold and edible.
I cut the smallest sliver to make sure it is pallatable,
the rest I serve.
At the end, all I have is empty mixing bowls, brown apple peels and a slight taste of carmel on my lips.

01/27/2004

Author's Note: this exercise was supposed to be a poem describing an every day process, like cooking, that is a metaphor for our lives and how we live them.

Posted on 01/27/2004
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Jeanne Marie Hoffman on 01/27/04 at 08:15 PM

Mmm... made me want to bake apple pie from reading it. The presise details show how presise the baking is

Posted by Rula Shin on 01/27/04 at 08:22 PM

This is really nice. It reminds me of those poems read as children, "A Recipe for Love...a pinch of trust, a dash of honesty, mix well slowly adding 1/4 cup passion and teaspoon of laughter.." do you know the ones? hahaha. Of course your poem is much more sophisticated. I love the last lines which are simply lovely and reveal the significance of all your hard work. Great job. :-)

Posted by Agnes Eva on 01/27/04 at 11:13 PM

oh YUM. me want pie now.

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