Seasonal Eating: A Poem

Last summer I made bread and butter pickles
Tart and sweet, the brine yellow with turmeric
Thin thin slices of cucumber
Slivers of onion
Mustard seed
Capturing the green bounty of June in metal-lidded jars

I cracked open a jar tonight
Releasing the scent of vinegar and spice
Remembering the day I made them
Remembering the lanky lovely man in the kitchen with me
The red-haired chef relaxing for once
While someone else sliced and measured and stirred

That man is long gone
The joy of him fading with the September heat
Leaving me to face the brilliant chill of autumn alone
Leaving me to subsist on the memory
Of the fat days of spring and summer

Another man came with the advent of winter
He didn't care for pickles
But each of us found a spark of warmth and nourishment in the other
Enough to get us through a lean dark time
Just as spring began to wax into summer again, though
Just as my herb boxes grew lush and a riot of flowers perfumed my porch
He left, too
Searching for sustenance I could not provide