Precisely What They Are

This poem is about canning. I think canning poetry should be a recognized genre.

Precisely What They Are

Beneath the droop of sunflowers,
their exact shade of yellow
lit by oblique windows,
is the washed rouge of crabapples,
their precise candied red,
and the green dappled with brown
of pears to be chopped with sugared ginger,
those exact hues,
always what they are,
precisely what they are,
and nothing else.

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2 comments
  1. The world is quickly becoming aware of the level of artistry involved in canning. This poem invokes in me all the feelings of beauty and joy that swelled up in me when Jenn and I were making apple butter last night.

  2. Jordan,

    Yes, apple butter. I like to cook mine until the sugars start to burn and it tastes like goodness. My family, unfortunately, prefers it otherwise.

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