Plum Jelly

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my grandmother's passing. We have all missed her deeply through out the year. A few months ago, I wrote a poem about her death and my own mourning. I have never posted one of my poem's on this blog, but this feels like a good time for a first, so here it is:

Plum Jelly

Ice-coated bluebonnets lined the path
leading to the cemetery
on that Easter-eggless Easter morning.
Death chose a curious time to take
you, but Nature, being kind, froze over
postponing Spring in a respectful moment
of silence.

A forest green tent offered shelter
from the frost as we set in velvet folding chairs,
Morris & Sons Funeral Home monogrammed on each.
Finally, dust descended from Reverend Riley's hand
and hushed the shine of your powder pink coffin.

Months later, on a smoldering summer day
when I was going about resuming my life,
I embarked on the menial task of cleaning
the fridge. Hidden behind
the ketchup and cocktail sauce I found a jar of plum jelly
whose lid had been neglected one busy breakfast
allowing air to seep in and work its decay.
I reached to throw it away, but paused when I saw
a sticky label with a picture of a candy cane and holly-
"Merry Christmas. Love, Grandma" written
in your slanted, shaky, decaying cursive.
The chill of the glass jar, of the frozen bluebonnets,
ran through my finger, up my arm, into me.
I replaced the items that had sheltered your gift
leaving the chore for another day.