She Who Poured Her Heart Into Mason Jars

She poured her heart into Mason Jars,

old schema in new thick cylinders

presenting apple apricot views into imaginary worlds,

every brew a fossilized life.

Ribbons, moth-like, clung to the fridge

and bruised fruit made useful,

gelatinous, malleable,

willed into existence, spread on toast.

Each prize proclaimed an ache,

every golden font a lie that

stuck to lineoleum like color itself-

her alchemy wore out that floor.

As moonbeams brought demons,

idle hands became confectioners:

snapped heart strings stewed,

sugared, set, then jarred so that only

an autopsy could detect

the root of blackberry bitterness,

knew just what browned those

apple preserves.

Strawberry that moaned of first love

deigned the cupboards, mango

abortions; marmelade hopes,

until the flavors ran together,

indistinguishable now in old age,

as relentless as the slams of cabinet doors

and ushered her spirit into Mason Jars.