LID OFF A JAR
Winter Prompt #24
Rusted on. The bail jar is full
of round black balls. Plums? How long
have they been here in the dust,
on this webby shelf?
She’s been dead how many years—
the woman whose house this was,
whose name I’ll never know.
A plum tree in the garden,
sheep in the pasture long grown up
to houses and lawns. New houses
not like this crazy one, layers
of wallpaper peeling, wide chestnut
floorboards, the space against the wall
where the kitchen stove used to stand.