Pie Crust

PIE CRUST


She leans her elbows
on the kitchen counter,
watches every move.
I measure the ingredients
making my first pie crust.
"You're wasting stuff!"
With trembling hands,
I scoop flour,
sprinkle the floor.
Mama sweeps it up:
"The secret to cooking
is to clean as you go."
I nod, knead the dough,
roll it paper thin.
The shell tears
as I press it into the pan.
She pats my shoulder.
There is so much
to love in a torn shell.
            --Brenda Kay Ledford


This poem was printed in Come Sit at Our Table.


Members of Clay County, NC Eastern Star published this 80-page cookbook.  Each copy is $10.00.


For ordering information, contact:  Judy Patterson
jpatterson@clayschools.org

Homecoming

The Blue Ridge Mountains
unfurl royal blue ribbons,
ancient; carved from granite;
patchwork farms dot the cove.

Cornfields sway like ripples
in the honeysuckle wind,
Queen Anne's lace spins
doilies on the banks

welcoming me to the old homeplace.
Granddaddy's old grey barn
painted with a Lone Star quilt,
a raincrow performs the coda
to a love song.

The gravel road forks,
Hyatt-Mill Creek gurgles
over moss-covered rocks.
A footbridge shimmies,

Great-Granddaddy Dallas Matheson's
log cabin sheltered at the foot
of Shewbird Mountain;
I savor the sweet memories.
                   --Brenda Kay Ledford