Michelle Brock
A Recipe for Apple Pie
Plate-clatter, cutlery-jangle, saucepan-clang, my mother is making kitchen music again. From my bedroom where I’m studying for a Zoology exam, I strain to decipher the nuances of each note. Water swishes into the sink. My shoulders tense. Enough scrutinizing the structure of protozoa, dishwashing is my chore.
cheerful cosy
on a chipped teapot . . .
intertwined
with joy and sorrow
mother's handiwork
In the kitchen a saucepan of apples hisses on the stove, scenting the air
with cinnamon and cloves.
‘Time for a cuppa?’ I fill the kettle and take over at the sink. On the
table a pie dish lined with pastry rests beside another pastry sheet in a
sea of flour. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ I ask.
Mum nods. She pours apple into the pie case, plops the pastry lid on top and
seals the edges with a fork. Gathering the scraps, she rolls them flat, cuts
a pastry flower for the crust and brushes it with egg white.
The oven door snaps shut and the chair sighs when Mum sinks into it. Steam
rises from the pot. I pour the tea, my mother smiles. Unlike the single cell
protozoa, an apple pie is a complex organism requiring just the right touch.
sunlight flickers across the lino tiles. . . mother's kitchen the patches of light and shade I dance between
About the Author
Michelle Brock is a poet and short-story writer. She lives on a bush block near Queanbeyan Australia and finds her inspiration along rivers and beaches and in the company of other writers. Her tanka and tanka prose appear in various journals and anthologies.