Monday, August 19, 2013

Toffee apples 

Toffee Apples

In years gone by women
made toffee apples before they died.
They passed the recipe down
through the fruit trees that swayed
and rolled apples on the land.
We collect the apples now from memory,
the heavy branches staring a gloss
of Delicious Reds, crisp, evergreen
Granny Smiths. We leave them in
their skins, the toffee boils in the pot;
a liquid of glucose, castor sugar, cochineal.
Toffee apples form a perfect sphere
like miniature worlds in sticky charm.
Popsticks placed within the core
are like peace flagpoles, one a piece.
Cool and clamped in their tight red bellies
the apples cry out ‘eat me, eat me.’
Sirrrip! The toffee lifts as lip, as ledge
for the mouth’s first bite.
Red balls like the sun, a stitched ball
in your hand, the earth’s red blood.
Crimson candy you have to work your way
into, mouth dribbling a spillway of saliva.
Toffee that can only be eaten
in that first deep crunch,
a crack between teeth
like the breaking of ice.


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Published by Australian Poetry Centre, Melbourne

of Arc & Shadow

of Arc & Shadow
Published by Sunline Press, WA

The Joyous Lake

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