Jane Whittaker
Piece of the Pie
Have another slice of this bitter-sweet pie.
After the baking is done divide it – just like your
life slice by slice, piece by piece.
Start with the cherries for innocence of the
beginning of your life. Take the seeds out and
push the cherries deep into the pastry.
Carve the pears for child birth – all four.
Cut, chop, remembering the pain on giving birth.
Mother rearing with love
Spread honey for joy; for the nine long months
of carrying and sweet labour.
For the husband who walked out after twenty years –
said he found someone else.
Add lemon and lime and bittersweet tears
falling, releasing anger inside.
Sprinkle raisins for years of offspring growing up.
Peel the skin of an apple, never stopping the
unbreakable thread, just like Eve; cut
it in two. How he took your life, cast you
aside, then blamed you.
Leave pips for the ripening.
Just throw the sugar on top and cut
a favourite old pattern into the soft pastry
for when you draw to the close of your life.
Some day.
Place in oven and bake patiently, waiting,
raising and sighing, thirty-five minutes, like thirty-
five years, cooking storm all baked out.
Invite old friends, family, children, grandchildren.
Divide; give each a single slice of this
less-than-perfect pie.
Save the last slice for yourself: If
you eat it or not – it’s your choice!
Jane Whittaker