Making Jam
The bush grows in the garden
and the currants come, by way of sun
and rain and pollinators. When, and how,
remains their own deep mystery.
Don’t hurry them, nor let them over-ripen,
or the jam won’t set. Include a few
still green. Remove stray leaves
and any woody stalks.
Look out for insects. It is kinder to release
them back outside to pollinate again.
Your own stained fingers will be sacrifice
enough to mollify the god of jam.
The sugar draws the juices
from the fruit, to turn itself deep red.
It darkens and dissolves into
a lumpy vibrant mass that’s sweet
and tart and steeped in summer scent.
This must be boiled hard, reduced,
stirred frequently, or it will burn.
Skim off the scum and hope it gels.
Then you can spread it on your toast
and offer it at breakfast to your family
and friends. It is a bit too sweet for one,
for others far too sour. So let them
stick to Marmite or to marmalade.
There are too many folk to please
to try to please them all. If some
enjoy it, that’s reward enough.
Isabel Miles
If you have any thoughts about this
poem, Isabel Miles would like to
hear them
