Apple Crumble with Love

by Rose Mary Boehm


I didn’t know about grown-up desperation
then. Had got used to carrots, potatoes and water.
Didn’t mind porridge made with wheat ground in Mum’s lap
with our old coffee grinder. Had no idea what coffee was.
I knew whey, not milk. Butter was a foreign word.
There was something nice in a slice of dark bread
with a layer of mashed potatoes. Sometimes
I brought home an egg, stolen, still warm,
from under one of Frau Keller’s hens.

For my birthday Mum made an apple crumble
with flour, water, and a few apples which
had overwintered in a drawer wrapped
in newspaper. At the time I didn’t understand
why Mum was crying when she tried to
prize the beautiful apple crumble from
the baking tray with a hammer and a chisel.


* * * * *

Rose Mary Boehm is a German-born British national living and writing in Lima, Peru, and author of two novels as well as six poetry collections. Her poetry has been published widely in mostly US poetry reviews (online and print). She was twice nominated for a Pushcart. Do Oceans Have Underwater Borders? (Kelsay Books, July 2022) and Whistling in the Dark (Taj Mahal Publishing House, July 2022), are also available on Amazon.
https://www.rose-mary-boehm-poet.com/