Today I Put Up Dill Pickles
Say a dill pickle brings your
mother back
twelve Mason jars on a sill
wanting to stay sealed
you can’t tell a vinegar mother
about it
two mourning doves
setting the hour rose-slate gray
transparent
like numb glass in sun
mother wafting in the bottom
with the name of vinegar
turn an hourglass over
it won’t take you back to that time
scent of vinegar and dill
vague figment of mother
First published in Manhattan Review