Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of teen writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. Each week, VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on youngwritersproject.org, a free, interactive website for youth, ages 13-19. To find out more, please go to youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org; (802) 324-9538.
“Good things come to those who wait,” but often that waiting is as much an exercise in determination as it is in patience. This week’s featured poet, Elie O’Brien of Thetford, can see the “true glory” of a flaky, buttery-rich apple pie at the finish line of a tedious peeling process, if only she can maintain a baker’s steady hand and motivation throughout.
Without apples
By Elie O’Brien, 17, of Thetford
Six apples in front of my eyes
waiting for their greater purpose,
each painted a deep, glossy red, reminding me of the perfume that sits on my desk.
“These apples must not go to waste,” I say.
I cannot, I will not, let them turn into mush.
Pie it is.
Five knives to choose from.
I go with the shortest,
running the blade carefully across the apple. Thin spirals of white and red ribbons make their way
to the floor.
The apple disposes of its disguise, much like a caterpillar leaving the comfort of its silky cocoon.
Four apples left.
I have gained a rhythm for this loathsome task,
the completion of one apple after the next.
I feel as though I am winning, that it is my own game of one-on-one.
Three birds fly, fully free and unaware of apple-peeling.
I have spotted their posse as I gaze outside my window, eager at the chance to distract my attention from the apples.
The apple skins have started to tower on top of one another,
their colors just as alluring as a typical evening in the fall.
I watch the birds once more.
I wonder what it must be like to fly.
Two apples left.
My hands have grown tired,
tired from the peeling.
Tired from the repeated motion of the blade across the fruit’s surface.
I can think only of the pie that is soon to be.
Without apples, there would be no apple pie —
no flaky, golden-brown crust,
no caramelized sugar creeping up along the sides of the pan,
no sweet aroma adrift in the air.
After all, only a baker knows the true glory of this peeling, for in return, they have created
one apple pie.
