Canning Friends

Maybe when the summer ends
We’ll find a blueberry patch, and then
Will pick a bucket, maybe two,
Eating ’til our lips are blue.

And then we’ll wash them,
Pluck the leaves and pull the stems.
Then we’ll sort them,
Throw the culls and keep the gems.
In freezer bags we’ll freeze our friends.

Maybe when the Autumn’s in
We’ll find an apple orchard, then
We’ll pick a couple bushel boxes
Fujis, Cortlands, Macintoshes.

And then we’ll wash them,
Cut the cores and peel the skins
Then we’ll sauce them,
in mason jars with cinnamon.
In steaming jars we’ll seal our friends.

Because in the time between bluster and blossom,
When blueberry patches have drifts blown across them,
We’ll go to those freezers and cupboards of ours,
Finding our friendships in zip-locks and jars.

Maybe when the robin is
Greeting warm the Spring with his
Hopping, chirping, worm-unearthing
feeding on a world rebirthing,

We’ll start to wonder
How the Winter made us different
How someday yonder
the Summer sun will settle in
and Summer days will never end.
We can have our friends instead
Of freezer bags,
Of mason jars,
Of memories both good and dead.

Leave a Reply