Gift of the Season
The hard yellow pears hung accusingly for days,
and several simply dried upon the branch,
exuding their somewhat sweet nectar
to the joy of uncountable ants.
With no sure venue for their sale,
even morphed into a buttery shmear,
I was willing to leave them to their demise this year.
But it seemed my grandmother stood behind me,
a disapproving whisper at my ear.
That is your harvest,
that is food in your pantry,
that is a gift of this season,
waste not, want not.
I don’t even like pear butter, grandmother,
the pears are so hard to peel,
And other objections formed in my mind,
but died unspoken.
Truth speaks plain,
often in a quiet, but firm voice,
and it almost seems there is no choice
but to proceed.
Hours later, hands aching, perhaps half the fruit
now simmers in a pot,
and the scent is homey and sweet,
accented with lemon and ginger.
Perhaps I cannot sell the pear butter.
Perhaps it is not my personal favorite, but
simmered into a smooth, buttery cream,
the pear butter seems less mean,
and more like a true gift of the season,
as a certain ghost pointed out,
or was that a dream?
If you want to see more of Debra’s craft and creativity, visit her Etsy store for body butters and poetry books and CDs.