Wednesday Poem

The Gist of the Matter

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.

by Glenda Barrett
from When the Sap Rises
(Finishing Line Press, 2008)