The Jam Pan

Image result for apricot jam making pan

January drenches the brow with sweat

Heat bounces off hard kitchen surfaces

Cut ripe apricots

lie piled in the jam pan, smothered in sugar.

Their aroma balloons

as the stove hot plate heats the pan base.

 

She walks heavily between sink and bench,

her loose dress damp.

Jam bubbles and ABC radio babbles.

Eyes focused on this step,

mind planning the next

Jam jars sterilized refract routine images

 

Carefully measured paces,

slowed by sluggish air,

complete the task.

 

She rests with cupped steaming tea,

sits at the disheveled table

sightlessly stares through the window.

 

The day is white with summer heat,

corrugated iron reflects glare.

The dog is slumped in shade.

 

Now, the jam pan,

filled with water,

soaks under the tap of the rainwater tank.

Bees hum lazily around its residue sweetness,

drowned bull ants float on water’s surface.

 

Discarded.

 

Filled jam jars line the pantry shelves,

The kitchen is empty, detritus of her labour lolls.

And still the heat persists.

 

All this

are pages in a journal,

primary sources of the past

which frame the present.

 

 

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