Retrospect in the Kitchen

After the funeral I pick

forty pounds of plums from your tree

Earth Wizard, Limb Lopper

and carry them by DC 10

three thousand miles to my kitchen

and stand at midnight--nine o'clock

your time--on the forth day of your death

pitting some raveled things

unsaid between us into the boiling pot

of cloves, cinnamon, sugar.

Love's royal color

the burst purple fruit bob up.

Maxine Kumin