Linda B. Gamble

Hands, sticky with juice,
I peel, pit peaches.
Produce piles up in the freezer:
berries, beans, peppers
to fill our winter bellies,
enliven deadened taste buds.

If only ---

I could preserve
the lingering light of a summer day,
save chunks of sunshine
to brighten winter mornings
seal summer’s heat in foil
that I might rub it on my feet
in February, my toes
free of heavy socks, boots.

Pack cartons of gentle breezes,
fragrant with flowers. Freeze
the majesty of a thunderstorm,
sky’s crash and crackle.

I would capture summer’s carefree essence
in a jar to be opened, inhaled
when schedules bind and doldrums set in
so I might push back against encroaching chores,
welcome each day ripe with possibilities.

Like us, summer’s here and gone,
I put down my knife,
escape to the deck,
fill myself with fleeting bounty.