Peaches
I am eating the peaches I canned in the summer
I am eating the trip to the farm
The boxes of soft peaches carried home
I am eating the day I found out he had cancer
The tears I cried in the kitchen
as someone else’s mother hugged me,
Because in that moment, I needed a mother
I am eating the moment I walked in the door
and my husband wrapped me in his arms
And I said I was supposed to go can peaches today
And he said you don’t have to go
And I said, I want to
I am eating the stories of a grandmother,
telling me her mother taught her this recipe.
I am eating a hot August day
The tears in my eyes
The juice covering my fingers for hours
I am eating every moment I peeled the skin
off each one, cutting them, dropping into jars
I am eating the time we spent waiting for the jars to boil
The sharp heat of the metal lids
Felt through the dish towel
I am eating the moment we divided up the jars
A steamy summer day locked away for later
Capped tightly, a genie bottle
I am eating the way I opened the drawer
and hid them in the back, thinking, I will open in the winter
Not knowing that on a sad day in December
I would pop open the lid
That summer day exploding in my mouth
My tears stored in the jar
Mixing with my tears from today
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– maybe one day I will tell my children