ecclectica

my mother

by Mary Anne Lamy

my mother still goes mad
in summer   nearing fall
picking cleaning freezing
canning blanching cooking
ready   against deep winter

i cant stop   she wonders
those jars fed us when
we had nothing & this
urge consumes me still

 she buys hundred pound bags
flour sugar cases of peaches
against feeding some huge
horde   who may yet come
many years spent wanting
more than want   strong craving
running wounds on her legs
when she came off the boat
with fran   in forty five
she ate so much fruit 
she was sick   may bought  
hot sausage buns until
everyone else was sick

so she stocks shelves freezer
jam jelly chicken pie buns frozen soup
                                               in anticipation