Juice

I'm not a superhero
many times not even a great mom
or a wonderful person at all


Caught up with all of you
in the throes of a national crisis
a global pandemic


I find myself feeling quite ordinary
my efforts infinitesimal
compared to the magnitude of the galloping beast


Living here at the foot of the mountain
there are not even other humans
within six feet of me whom I could avoid
(family counting as a single organism)


So here I just am
making juice for jelly
from the collected bodies of canned grapes
whose first juice we have already drunk


these discards are heated on the stove
poured through a sieve
gently mashed to release their final goodness
(no, actually the chickens will still eat the skins)


dark purple pulpy juice runs down
gathered in surprising quantity in a bowl
and the fragrance is like early fall all over again


gorging ourselves on grapes beneath the arbor
juice running down our chins
the sweet, pungent aroma lingering on our stained fingers


And so I too
offer my one small body
joined with many others
a collected offering of good will and intentions
producing together an urn-full after all
a pleasing aroma

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