94poems/jars

It was the summer of jars,
of inedible looking colors
crossing town in jars,
before I had time to
scrub labels off. Of trying
too hard.

I had not been a jar saver,
nor user, in years.
Since the summmer of
cupboard emptying,
when the jars high up,
as those cupboards went,
so high that standing
on the counter top
was necessary,
made me cry
with leaving.
Reaching for the jars,
facing the failed dreams
of jam that never
got made.
What about my little
jam jars, I said.
And he answered,
your little jam jars
will still be your
little jam jars,
making me sorry
he was leaving
too.