Recalling from childhood;
(ten or eleven?)
the thin layer of paraffin
that sealed the jar
of strawberry jam.
Large, luscious berries
that we picked in June fields
while the sun warmed our backs.
That gray disc of wax preserved
the sweet taste of summer,
strawberry jam, spread on warm, buttered toast;
a rare treat for a winter breakfast
in the late nineteen-fifties.
© 2022 Richard Havenga
