Laura Lee (Davis) Snyder
Scarlet Apples - Poem by Laura Lee (Davis) Snyder
Since we cannot be lovers,
I peel apples, core
and slice in measured strokes,
combine cinnamon and cloves with sugar
to coat the moist sides of apples.
Since I know the way to a tender crust,
I mix flour, shortening and salt
to a fine crumbly meal, add iced water
-holding back-spoon by spoon, only enough
to form a ball between floured hands.
I tumble the apples into their bed,
lick spiced sugar from my fingers tips,
sigh with the rising breath of cinnamon and cloves,
cut golden hunks of butter, and top the pie
with another circle of pastry. I tuck
and turn the pan from left to right,
crimp the edges
between thumb and fore finger, and take up
a paring knife to cut the cursive lines of A for Apple
(thinking of Hester but refusing her path) .
Baking the pie in a hot oven,
I watch over the crust
to keep it from burning.
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