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