Blemished Fruit

My mother taught me to stew fruit.
To core and peel. Add raisins.
A bit of brown sugar, cinnamon.
Simmer till soft.

For this family treat,
she used mostly blemished fruit,
apples and pears she deemed
perfectly good, save for a few
brown spots.

At my own counter,
paring knife in hand,
I remember Mom
in her green Formica kitchen
humming while she sliced
the bruises off battered fruit,
never doubting for a moment
she could make something sweet
with whatever was left.

Before You Needed a Chair in the Shower

We often spent Sunday afternoons
at scenic spots. We liked those sprawling
parks, created from old estates
with grand houses and grounds.

Now I leave you home when I drive away
with my neighbor Shelley, already widowed.

You couldn’t navigate this leaf-covered trail
with your cane. While I can still step quickly
uphill, over exposed tree roots.

Shelley, cheerful beside me, suggests a stop
after our walk at the market down the road,
the kind of place we would have visited
before your first trip to the ER.

Returning to the car,
I think of your stammering steps
from couch to table, the groaning
effort to sit back down in a chair,
and wish it wasn’t so painful
to mention how much we both miss
what we used to do together.

Jacqueline Jules is the author of Manna in the Morning (Kelsay Books, 2021) and Itzhak Perlman’s Broken String, winner of the 2016 Helen Kay Chapbook Prize from Evening Street Press. Her poetry has appeared in over 100 publications including The Sunlight Press, Gyroscope Review, and One Art. She is also the author of two poetry books for young readers: Tag Your Dreams: Poems of Play and Persistence. (Albert Whitman, 2020) and Smoke at the Pentagon: Poems to Remember (Bushel & Peck, 2023). Visit  www.jacquelinejules.com.