I Was Going to Write a Poem

I was going to write a poem

but I made a pie instead.

It was much easier,

and so much more appreciated.

I mean, you can eat a pie,

you can’t eat a metaphor,

and I was hungry

and words were getting

all tangled up

in their intangibility.

Still I have this crazy need

to use them,

like a painter might use his palette

to show how amazing the light is

or how sweet the pie

still fresh from the oven

year after year

the apples hot and juicy

the pie crust golden brown

smelling of home and love.

I could even add ice cream

and it would not melt.

It would be there for the children

even when they are no longer children

for at what age does one not want

homemade pie?

About the Author

Dorothy Riehm lives in Northampton in a cohousing community. A retired social worker, she has been writing poetry on and off for many years, and now in her 80’s has been sending her work out for publication. Her poetry has appeared in Friends Journal, Passagers, and will be in the forthcoming issues of Silkworm and Linea.