The other day I was brought to tears while peeling an apple. So I wrote a poem to memorialize the bevy of emotions. Thanks for reading.
I remember the afternoons, where I would watch
as you, with a napkin draped across your lap,
would sit in your rocking chair and peel your apple.
You occasionally would cast your concentrated eyes
from the edge of your paring knife to the small TV set
in the corner of your living room
where Wheel of Fortune would be playing.
Papa would be in his recliner. His white socks
shining in the spaces between black slip on shoes
and the cuffed khakis that you had perfectly hemmed.
As you turned your attention back to the apple,
I can see the smile on your face
(that you thought no one would see)
as you held up the peeling that was perfectly removed
from the flesh of the apple, in one spiraling cut.
Please visit my poetry page to read it and other poems. Click here => Grandma’s Apple
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