#353 watching the oven door

rickety ladders and i climb apple trees

ladders greyed by wind and rain and time
tiptoeing from an upper rung

i roll the stem into my thumb

separating apple from tree

adding to my sobey's bag

i walk up the hill

the porch enters me into the kitchen

mum exclaims at my loot

locates her paring knife and two big bowls

adds salt and water for the pie parts

the empty one for jelly ingredients

an hour later

i perform my other part of pie-making

choo-choo fork tracks

allowing heat to escape in the oven

then she spits on them with butter

an old family trick

deep-dish pies enter the oven

and i smile

old enough to enter the woods alone

young enough to stare through a translucent door at an oven light

wishing time would bring me fresh pie just a bit faster