Sweet aromas surround me
as I pass through the kitchen.
Apples sit in a bowl on my kitchen table,
waiting to be chopped and pureed
into something delicious.

My mother sits at the table
trying to finish one deck
just to work on another
and to keep working all day long
Yet apples sit in a bowl on my kitchen table,
waiting to be baked into something
delicious.

My brother comes home from school,
drained of self confidence and esteem
Yet apples sit in a bowl on my kitchen table,
waiting to be cooked and boiled into
something delicious.

After the first snow comes,
the driveway needs to be shoveled.
Tension and stress mount,
so much needs to be done.
Yet apples sit in the garbage under my sink,
rotting and decaying,
waiting to be thrown out.