making a memory

making a memory

when can we get apple pie again?
he asks wistfully
we can make apple pie
I say
we can? when?
we have everything we need
I say
how about tomorrow?

friends ask
what are you looking forward to most?
and when I say
slowing down
they’re puzzled –
it’s not the destination they expected

I’m looking forward to
taking the butter out
measuring the flour
letting him squish it all in his fists
taking our time while the dough
firms in the fridge

I’m going to enjoy
watching him hold the knife
and carefully turn apples white
then slice them thin

I will breathe in cinnamon
and hear the rough scrape of sugar
as the apples turn to flat leaves
of gooey brown

then we’ll roll out the dough
mound up the spiced fruit inside
deliberate about a pattern for the top
seal it all
and bake it to steaming

and the warm pride of making something sweet
won’t be a distant glow for him –
he’ll have tomorrow’s hot homemade pie
forever
or as close as our fallible minds allow