Memaw Made Pies

Memaw would make pies                   restless

Through all the seasons

Her specialty was apple

Using the small, tart green ones

That fell from the tree

Beside of the fence

We’d gather them together

In big white buckets

Peeling them on the back porch

With the rusty butcher knife

As we spoke of family

Of life…and of dreams

As the apples boiled

Into a buttery sauce

She would flour the counter

And roll out the dough

As the red of the kitchen

Was dusted in a light snow

Then her daughters would gather

Around the kitchen table

Sharing their worries

And a piece of pie