Thursday, October 6, 2011

Apple Jelly

A friend sent me this poem and it is very fitting for the season.  No truer words are spoken.  Enjoy!

Apple Jelly

No sense in all this picking,

peeling and simmering

if sheer food is all

you want; you can buy it cheaper.

Why then do we burn our hours

and muscles in this stove,

cut our thumbs, to get these tiny

glass pots of clear jelly?

Hoarded in winter: the sun

on that noon, your awkward leap
down from the tree,

licked fingers, sweet pink juice,

what we keep
the taste of the act,

taste of this day.

by Margaret Atwood

1 comment:

  1. I remember seeing this poem posted on the Toronto subway a few years ago. It stayed with me -- even though I don't generally react much to poetry. When I make jelly, this always comes to mind