apple butter: a poem

apple butter: a poem #poem #poetry

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the text of the poem:

she lived in
crisp, cold,
northern Arizona,
and she’d make
fresh apple butter
for us.
ripe apples plucked,
cut, cored,
and smashed
in the
ceramic-coated crockpot.
drowned in butter
and brown sugar,
left on low overnight,
unsupervised—
and we’d awaken
to the most
heavenly smell
one could imagine.
that aroma beckoning
us into the kitchen,
hunger riled,
and a
stronger motivation
to get out of bed
than even coffee.