Mom Made A Pie

Mom made her famous pie.

And she was happy.

So she went to the kitchen table

and took a seat.

 

She sat there alone

and borrowed a big sigh.

 

Soon the kids would come inside,

Dad would finish his evening chores,

and the weekend Saturday sunlight

would soak through the kitchen curtains

across the tired table.

 

Then it would be time.

And she wasn’t quite ready.

But there she sat

SATISFIED.

 

She’d made her pie,

Betty’s famous apple pie

with bits of cinnamon

and the crust just so.

Sigh.

 

In not too long

the kids would be fighting for the last servings

of her buttery biscuits and stew

all the while Dad

be thinking about

-the pie-

-the pie-

 

And all her hard work,

all her labor of love,

-her magic-

would be eaten,

devoured,

-gone-

at that tired table

with 7 pairs of hands

and sleepy eyes.

 

Everyone wondering

when the next pie

would tempt them all

to come inside.

 

Dad always said

there were only two kinds of pie:

warm and cold.

 

 

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