My Mother Makes Apple-dappy

My Mother Makes Apple-dappy

She rolls the dough to an inch-thick slab,
covers it with milk-white Bramley chunks,
smothers it in spice and Demerara, cuts it into
coiled sections, lays them in the baking dish.
Then she soaks it all in golden melt
of honey, lemon, butter. Sets the dish to bake.

Her kitchen fills with fragrance,
the family hordes come tumbling in.
Soon there’s not a spoon-scrape left.
She runs hot water, slides the dishes in,
a smile of satisfaction on her face.