This last mince pie of the season is a thing
of greatest beauty.
The pastry short, the lid slightly too small.
In between the points of the star-shaped pastry
on top, mincemeat oozes out.

This home-made pie is small; not the showy item
sold in supermarkets in boxes of six, with intricate patterns
on top and a foil base. These mismatched pies, 
bunched together and laced with icing sugar, 
taste of comfort.

My mother's fingerprints on each one, they are baked 
with anticipation of grateful recipients. 
Recipients with glad hearts, sticky faces
and very little regard for crumbs.