Memory.
Memory of your mother
rolling pastry
and you watching
her hands
and the rolling pin
and the way the pastry
was pushed down
and out
and then she took
the pastry
and put it over a dish
and spooned in
the cooked beef
and onions
and then placed another
rolled out piece
of pastry on top
and forked down
the edges of the pastry
and she said
do you want
the end clippings?
and you said
sure why not
and she gave you
the clipped off pasty
raw in your hands
and you began to eat
noticing how red
and raw and worn
her fingers
and hands were
and how tired
her eyes looked
and wiping hair
from her eyes
with the back
of her floured hand
[...] Read more
poem by Terry Collett
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