Deborrah Corr
Making Apple Crisp on New Year’s Day
The apple fits the curve of my left fingers.
With the right, I wield the peeler.
Its soundtrack, a soft scrape and grate
as I rotate the globe, round and round
until it trails a long tail that falls to the sink,
like holiday wrappings that fell to the floor
just days ago. I lift this damp ribbon.
Its spiral is a triumph. No breaks
in its twisted narrative. Translucent
in the window’s light, it sings
as it hangs and sways while bits
of apple flesh cling and sparkle.
The knife splits the sphere, a crunch
and a thud on the cutting board.
Two white halves tumble open,
reveal outlined trenches where
the fruit clenches seeds, protecting
the future, like any other mother.
This new year is already slicing in
with explosions, hunger, and death.
I stir my worries into the syrup,
oats, and cinnamon. Let them bake
and soften with the apples, serve it
to my son and his wife when they
sit at our table, where we eat
the sweetness of still being here.
Deborrah Corr is the author of Naked Rib (Finishing Line Press). Her poems have appeared or will appear in several journals including Chicago Quarterly Review, Booth, Catamaran, The McNeese Review, and others. She received honorable mentions from both Connecticut River Review and the Streetlight Magazine 2024 contests.