Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Apples

Apples

She will remember the apple cider
that fills the fridge and freezer in fall,
as she creeps, light as a spider,
from her bedroom and down the hall.

She will remember the grand piano
that belongs to Mom but sings for Dad,
as she lingers, the slender soprano,
to admire a delicate lily pad.

She will remember her own shed
that safeguards secrets and her bears,
as she tucks her children into bed,
and smoothes their sheets as she prepares.

She remembers the apple cider
and wishes her eyes had been a bit wider.

1 comment:

Kelsey Austin Threatte said...

I love and admire this beyond measure.