I really have no experience making jam. But fruits make me happy, especially stirring them. And jarring them. Also giving them away.
Have a fruitful weekend!
I am making plum jam and it smells divine
because of that vanilla bean steeping in it
grown by an orchid in another county’s humidity
Misha is outside snipping grapes off the vine
to bring to his parents
because we can’t make all the jam
It’s sunny now after a day of bluster and greys
and there’s a catbird screeching near the chickens
and the rooster’s screeching back at her
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been injured
because it would sound unimpressive
and I like to impress people with quantities
Multiplication has never come easy to me
not even after years of memorization
I wish numbers were something I could intuit like moods
Being an adult means being able to eat an entire box of macaroni & cheese
And I can do that
But only every once and a while
Perhaps I’m still not quite fully grown
That would be really great news for me
Because I check my upper back daily for wings
On the day when I finally grow my wings
I will act as nonchalant as a teenager
And fly away for a daytrip but return home at dusk
Because dusk is the best part about autumn
And the best part about summer too
And the best part about right this minute
So I’m off to enjoy this current set of minutes
Because as you know they are already flying away from me
At a pace that not even the wingful can achieve
Today a couple of honeymooners came over
to sit on the porch for hours and eat
lunch and coffee cake. The clouds cleared
for them and the frogs burped their hellos
and later poems will be written
with scythes in them and we will all approve
or not. After they left I stirred honey
into my tea (like always) and hoped
the clouds would clear again for them later
so that the moon could shine on their sweet
little cabin as they read their magazines
and sipped their tea. My honey and I
sat on the porch after they drove away,
in different chairs, reading our books
as storms rolled over, the scythed-down
grass flattening against the rest, birds flitting
back to nests. To be honest I can’t tell
a bird’s nest from a bat box but I am
gosh-darned over-the-moon about
homes in general, about porches and the moon
and frogs that celebrate a thunderstorm.
What does the sun taste like?
An egg yolk.
What does the moon taste like?
What do the stars taste like?
Salt and pepper.