That summer, we wept
in New Jersey— over
our lost hopes of a child.

I saw in my third eye, that
wasted, rich, brown blood.
Enjoying the luxury of

A rented house full of fruit
trees. That morning, we
helped friends haul

Belongings from the fifth
floor of the brick apartment
building on Tryon Ave.

In the Bronx to rich folks’ estate
in White Plains. The very same
day, we drove to Brooklyn,

Visiting Grandma— she lay pale,
shaken. Earlier, before surgery,
she had told the doctors—

“Just open me up, help yourself.”
Imitating an old black woman she
said she knew. Then she told us

She had been a good Christian woman
all her life, and down there her voice
cracking, the letter of proof, she read

Aloud from the Women’s Prayer Fellowship.
Satisfied, she smiled when I told her about
the ripe and falling plums in our yard and

The sweet ice we made from them.
How they trickled down Larissa’s
chin, staining her pink lacy dress.

Grandma motioned me to adjust the bed.
She fluffed the starched pillow, holding forth.
In crisp authorial tone, speaking the recipe.

For plum jam. I hear her.

---

Use a heavy-bottomed
three or four quart pan.
Boil water,

Add the plums until
the skins fall off.
Pour off the water

And put the plums through
a fine sieve. Catch the pulp
in a bowl under the sieve.

Put the plum juice into a pitcher.
For every 3 cupfuls of pulp,
add 1 cupful plum juice and

3 to 4 cupfuls of sugar. Put the
jam mixture in the heavy
bottomed pot. Cook in

Batches of 4 cups at a time for 20
minutes. Stir often with a wooden spoon
as it is apt to stick.

Place the jam while boiling hot into
sterilized jars— any kind of jar will
do— like a peanut butter jar.

Sterilize jars—boiling them in another
heavy bottomed pot. Do this earlier.
Seal the jars with hot paraffin.

Melted crayons will do the job fine
and are colorful to boot. She sighed—
motioning for me to adjust the bed to

Horizontal again so she could sleep,
say goodbye, and not forgetting
to stir as

Jam tends to stick.