The Jane Moran Prize
There is something sensuous about putting food by,
saving the season’s freshness for a time
when harvest warmth can hardly be imagined.
And so, we spend every late summer
Saturday pickling green beans, chopping
zucchini for relish, blending basil
into pesto, dicing onions and garlic
to set aside for sauce we save for last
and as day finds its way towards darkness
we send the kids away to neighbors,
strip off clothes to avoid stains and begin,
hands holding red globes of tomatoes,
peeling back skin to warm flesh below,
squeezing ripeness into something that lasts.