Poetry is the genre I feel least comfortable attempting. Most of the poems I’ve written deserve their ignominious fate in manilla folders. I write them most often to sustain a contemplative mood or moment.
Here’s one inspired by thinking of my daughter Kate and some of her favorite things this time of year. Apologies to Jane Kenyon.
Recipe for a November Evening
Take one Winesap apple. Wash
and slice into thin crescents. Arrange
into a pleasing shape. Sprinkle
cinnamon generously over the plate.
Add a few dark chocolate Wilbur
Buds. Pull the Santa mug from the
tallest cupboard. Fill with tropical green tea.
Take the plate and the mug to the red
chair next to the fire. Soak up the
savory time the way Kathy worked
her fingers into tired muscles.
on her table this afternoon.
Feel dusk descend.
Let winter come.