JAM JARS
1.
My mother used to make jam.
1.
My mother used to make jam.
Back in her self-sufficiency stage,
In the windy days
when we were on the farm and everything we ate was something I had seen grow up,
like the raspberries,
and my pet sheep; Hungry.
And now, like a hangover from a hallucination lost,
I save all the jars from my ready made factory food,
as though some day, I�ll use them to preserve something long lost,
and toothsome.
2.
In the dry season, two big chills ago,
I fell in love.
I�m not sure who with, or why.
But I know I was in love.
I know because to think of it makes me shiver,
I know because I�ve fucked everyone I knew then,
Just to turn back the clock.
3.
When I close my eyes at night, I see highways,
One long white line down the centre of my vision.
When I�m awake, I think about the different routes I could take to get there.
Wherever that is.
I say goodbye to friends and lovers a lot these days,
Leave them at airports.
Put them in trains, taxis.
Lots of highways between us now.
4.
My mother doesn�t make jam any more,
Often wonders out loud if all her excessive nurture is what made me strong enough to leave her behind.
She waved goodbye, and went back in the house.
Alone in the kitchen,
Cooking for one.
Disappointed that her daughter is everything she wanted her to be
And hates to be mothered.
5.
I am a wave machine.
I�m wavier than the ocean that used to rock me to sleep before I hit the tar running,
I�m wavier than palm fronds
in the wind,
against the sinking sun, back in that dry place.
I�m waving goodbye to love, and going back inside the house.
Alone with my jam jars,
My self-sufficiency stage.
Disappointed that love is everything I wanted it to be
And has to be fleeting.
By Briohny Doyle
Redfern NSW. Age: 20
For more words by noise artists check out noise magazine, and noise�s book of words. Available in October 2003 in newsagents and bookstores.
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