we put a cupboard in the fireplace
 & filled it with mason jars--
 my mother's pickled beets &
 sandy mustard glowing like 
rusted halos-- boiled blossom
 rows of raspberry & blue berry
 jam-- we kept our summers in
there like a fire burning in december
when our christmas table gets 
smaller & smaller until we all
open up the cupboard & stare into
it like a television of sun--
we remember the smell of fresh sage
& eating berries until we were sick 
& wearing stomachs like steel bowls
of this fruit-- one by one we crawled
inside & closed the doors behind us--
& of course it was my birthday again--
the finger nails of july--
& the cake tasted only of firefly
glow & the inhale of the corn 
thrashing in a gust of wind
from my father's blue jeep as it
races with a railroad tracks--
each bump a calendar square-- we
run away from the seasons around
us-- seal summer in mason
jars for safe keeping--