day 16.

Pippin Poem

Practically speaking, the 

Pippins were superfluous.

Pears were the point of my errand. But

petite and tart,

puckered and gnarled, the 

Pippins seduced me at the market. I

picked up four. At home, I

posed them on the windowsill, their tubby sides

propped together while I 

prepared their

pastry nest. Floured the dough,

patted it into shape,

pressed it into a shallow green bowl.

Picking the apples from the sill, I

pared them, one by one, their little jackets

peeling in a heap. I tucked them in and

pricked the crust, resigned myself to

patience while they

perfumed the kitchen. When the pie emerged,

plump and bubbling, I

polished it off.