The box you sent came in the mail today,
the three jam jars intact— I did not know
the local orchards now have kumquat, enough
to turn into a thriving industry. We love
the bagful of pastillas, each bite just
as we remember, toasted milk-sweet in fluted
pastry shells, each wrapped in colored
cellophane. I didn’t recognize the vendors’
tags on any of the shirts, but the girls
think they are cute, especially embellished
with rhinestones. I smelled a whiff of travel
as I undid the plastic and lifted wads of
crumpled newsprint, padding, from inside: just
for a moment, that other place and its crowded
streets, old houses leaning at the curb or
limned with tungsten light— mingled scents
of tobacco, wilted greens, old linen somehow
sharper and more crisp, because of evanescence.
11 18 2011
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
