Canning Memories
Indian summer Saturday mornings
meant project door screens sat open
waiting for the vegetable truck
No new moons or first frosts
just the horn on an old flatbed
trumpeting the harvest
No almanac announcement, no ads
just a short black farmer in overalls
and mud-caked boots
Grandmothers who still clicked
their tongues, who called up the sound
of a tractor at daybreak
the perfume of fresh turned earth
and the secret location of the best
blackberry patch
like they were remembering
old lovers, planted themselves
a squint away from palming
and weighing potatoes
string beans, kale, turnips, sweet corn
onions and cabbage
They seeded themselves
close enough to see each other
bent low in the fields, pulling weeds
Notes:
“Canning Memories” is reprinted from Black Box (Old Cove Press, 2006) and is part of the folio “Frank X Walker: Kinfolk.” Read the rest of the folio in the January/February 2026 issue of Poetry.
Source: Poetry (January/February 2026)