Pickle Memories

[Maddy]

I wish I could pickle memories.
Toss them into a transparent jar,
Hear the Ker plunk as they hit a sea of vinegar,
That bitter pickler.
I could turn cucumbers
Into squishy varieties,
And, when I feel the need,
Reach my hand into said jar
And retrieve a tangible face,
Bite slowly into its slimy skin
While a cascade of lime-green juice
falls down my jaw.
I could hear the crunch,
Feel the bitter particles bounce of my acrobatic tongue
And recall odds and ends
I dared not recall before,
But feel the torturous need to, now.
I would be the Pickle Pauper,
You’d be my distorted squash
Sitting in the confines of a faceless jar
On my generic shelf
Next to other anonymous containers.
I’d attach labels to the glass to make you individualized,
Creating a wall of pickled options to sift through.
Spinning around blindfolded,
Arm extended,
Finger pointing,
“Eenie meenie miney mo”
Spewing out of my angelic lips,
A sort of anticipation brewing
While I untie my blindfold,
Afraid to see what jar the fates have chosen for me.
And the jars and I could go on like this
As more jars fill my memory room,
Continuing our children’s game,
Giggling when the arms of the clock finally stop
And a jewel coated bird pops out of a trap door.

[S. E. Hinton]

very nice use of imagery, it played out in my head the whole time. you just have to read it in a rhythm and not stop until the end. well done :-)

[Donald Anderson]

Pretty good poem, though you lost me a bit when you started the bit about the squash and a few of the lines there in the middle.