Her Apple Pies
ragged oven mitt still hangs from the fridge
yellow stains from baking tantalizing apple pies
always made with mother’s love
her tiny hands stayed busy
new pies she served to family each day
such traditions seem lost now
old mitt has burns and blemishes
but it brings memories that make her feel close
when I miss her most, I don the mitt
trying to emulate her recipe
something always seems missing
perhaps it’s the absence of her love
still, I keep this special mitt,
not ready to let go of memories
*Written 5/8/2020
For Craig Cornish’s “The Potholder” poetry contest
Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2020
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