Jam

Every summer

as a child

I'd look at my mom and Nana

and ask

Why?

Why?

WHY?

Why do we make jam on the hottest day in July?

There was no answer. Just flushed faces

hovering over hot burners

stirring jam and

preparing jars, jars and more jars.

Of course, maybe I didn't hear the answer

Lost in a cloud of berry-infused foam, just skimmed from the pot.

A small reward for hulling berries in a July-hot kitchen.

This summer

I learned why we makers of jam wait.

My berries, sitting on the counter in a July-hot kitchen

Bought at a farmers market this morning

Are fragrant

And swell in the early afternoon heat.

Small, sweet teardrops of  juice bleed onto the counter, the cutting board

And stain my fingers.

My reward 

For making jam in a July-hot kitchen.