Sunday.
18 artists and poets reflect on their ideal Sunday for the latest print issue of Cannopy
What does your ideal Sunday look like? That’s the question we posed to 18 of the artists and poets we welcomed for Issue 16: Sunday. Their answers — in poems, prose, and passing reflections — formed a collective portrait for the Arts & Letters section of our magazine.
Two excerpts from this collection include a poem by an Ontario-based poet Pearl Saban, and Barcelona’s Amaia Miranda.
On a day like today ─ by PEARL ADLER SABAN
On a day like today ─
a cool, overcast and damp fall day
my father would have been standing
alongside my mother
at the kitchen counter,
newspaper pages open and laid out,
paring knives handy,
a pot ready to be filled,
baskets of red juicy apples, handpicked, washed and waiting to be undressed.
Classical music would have played in the background –
Chopin always welcome in our home.
With paring knife in hand, he would have proceeded.
Slipping the tip under the apple’s skin, and peeling, round and round and round,
turning the fruit as he peeled off its red coat in one long strip.
One after another, the apples were left naked.
Cut and cored, seeded too,
then tossed into the pot to await their duty.
For an hour or two, my parents stood there,
comfortable in the silence,
not needing to make conversation, just doing this task,
that was done many a Sunday in the fall in our home.
Applesauce. They would make applesauce.
Into the pot and onto the stove element went the apples.
On a low flame, for hours at a time, they were stirred, then they simmered.
A touch of sugar added to enhance the natural flavors.
Applesauce. They would make applesauce.
And when the apples had simmered and softened and cooled
they were jarred.
Jar upon jar. Lidded and labeled.
Placed in the basement refrigerator for
each time a jar was called upon,
a jar was needed.
I miss those days.
I miss their applesauce.Discover the “Sunday.” collection in Issue 16
Amaia Miranda — Barcelona
It is Sunday as I write this, and it’s been a good one. I’ve been able to sleep for many hours, rehearse my songs with Nacho, cook something delicious to eat, and walk around the city, which is beautiful at this time of year. But the truth is that Sundays are typically the day I come back from a tour, which is a bit difficult sometimes because I think it takes the mind longer to arrive than the body. It’s the day to unpack, do the laundry, and rest a little. I love being on tour, but at the same time I’m very solitary and it’s a gift to have that moment when I get my solitude back and can slow down. I hated Sundays when I was a teenager, but over the years I’ve come to love them. If you don’t have to work, or the travel is not very long, then they have a magical, placid calm.
