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Apple peelings
red and moistened
slide from the knife
onto my calico apron
in a large, curly heap.
I listen to the chatter of
my family around the table.
Over and over,
I slice pieces from my apple,
and eat them from the knife
like my father before me,
until nothing is left but the core.
That’s where I like to begin
my story.
From When the Sap Rises (Finishing Line Press, 2008)
This poem previously apeared in Hard Row to Hoe.
Used here with the author's permission.
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Glenda Barrett, a native of Hiawassee, Georgia, is an artist, poet and writer. Her writing has appeared in Woman’s World, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Farm & Ranch Living, Rural Heritage, Kaleidoscope, Journal of Kentucky Studies, Smoky Mountain Living, Georgia Magazine, and many other publications.
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