Menu

Adrienne Veronese

Poet, Novelist, Author, Essayist, Humorist

Gravenstein

 

 

This was the scent that marked the end of summer

and the inevitable waltz into autumn's

colorful dance of crisp air and sweaters:

Cousin Tommy's delivery of

his annual bushel of gravensteins

from the tree at the end of his drive.

 

This was an afternoon of peeling and slicing -

always with the sharpest of paring knives -

never, ever with one of those newfangled things

made for the woman too helpless to handle a knife.

 

This was the trip downstairs to the big freezer

with trays of sliced apples to quick-freeze

while applesauce simmered upstairs

on the stove top and canning jars sterilized

in the hot water bath drawn for the occasion.

 

This was the cooking lesson given

at the kitchen counter

because every good woman must know

how to make a pie crust from scratch

and how to fill it with the perfect thin slices

tossed in sugar, a pinch of salt

and some lemon juice.

 

This is the scent that each year fills my kitchen

and for an evening transports me back

to that table where I watched the good woman

take that first satisfying bite and felt the season

wrap its arms around me and deliver on its warm

sweet promises once again.

 

For Betty

photo by Monika Grabkowska

Go Back

Beautiful poem. I really loved reading it. The words are so simple yet so poetic. I can literally feel those moments and be there for those events. It was so soothing too. You keep writing these poems and there are readers like us who love this. Babylon Amsterdam City ToursThis comment has been moderated by the blog owner

Reply

Yum, Adrienne. Excellent poem, good apples, great pies. Greg

Reply


Comment

Blog Search

Comments