Berries and Sugar

All the jars in all the galaxies.
all the words in all the damn world.
the girlies in all of the spaces and places.
Jam.
In a damn jam jam.
And not at all, not even a bit.
Writing to write and speaking to speak,
to be spoken to and of and with.
A dang sticky weirdo in a dang sticky world.
Testing the limits of pectin and sugars,
introducing atypical ingredients and fresh variables.
Like resurrecting forgotten fruits with a delicate, healing touch.
Out here makin' pies. Makin' jams and jellies and jams.
And just when I fear a sweet tooth might get the best
I'm reacquainted with feeling rebuffed and angry.
Feeling scared and angry and isolating.
Know it well now, I do.
Are you rebuffed? Shall one withdraw?
No answers that ever really are answers.
No promises. No masters, nor gods.
Only berries and sugar and that too-often-bitter lemon.