
I was far too small
to reach the dusty glass
jars stacked on the wooden
shelves of your garage. I’d
skate by wondering what orange
or yellow or green meant
and if you’d teach me
your secrets. I outgrew wanting
to know before your mind
forgot all the things—including
me. It’s been 17 years
since you left without meeting
your great-grandchildren and now
I wonder if my persimmon
jam would fit beside yours.
