Hello Poetry Lovers
I guess it’s time to get seasonal and still keep my obsession with food. However, this particular food we will all be obsessed about. 
Yes, a lovely poem from Trisha Broomfield about those traditional mince pies and the nostalgia and memories they evoke. Rosy yet painful at times. 
Lovely detailed poem, Trisha, thank you so much. Do read on;
Mince Pie Time
I crumb butter into flour
the mixing bowl your old one
creamy patterned like an Aran sweater
elbows up, the kitchen counter too tall,
suddenly I am four again
crumbing Trex into Homepride
your own mother’s mixing bowl
elbows up, feet on a stool
the kitchen table too tall,
breadcrumbs of nearly shortcrust appear
and I don’t know how,
add an egg, cold water, just a touch.
It’s mince pie time again
but because I am four once more
I reach for the spoon
dollop red jam into cups of pale pastry.
© Trisha Broomfield 2021
Wasn’t that such a moving journey? Who didn’t get a lump in their throat, remembering their own mother’s baking these timeless things? 
With my own Mum it was more sausage rolls and when Christmas Eve comes round, I can still smell that baking aroma. Sigh!
Thanks so much for tuning in, PL’s. We’ll be real soon with another seasonal piece
Heather Moulson 