there were so many tomatoes that time. so you made jam. from a recipe you read like a story. it was the most beautiful jam i had ever, ever seen. i unscrewed the lid of the small (why so small) pot you brought me. (after inspecting for tomato skins and finding none. visible, anyway) and me no fan of jam. the very first thought that came to me was that i had never smelled a tomato before. ever. ever. until this very second. it was so beautiful. it looked like liquid glass, the jam so clear, nearly colourless with bright red-orangey pieces shining there. nothing about it looked real at all. tomato pips sat jellied and secure, happy in the molten glass of that jam. it looked so much like a wet ornament, just blown, still hot and right now, cooling.

tomatoes inglass-inglass-inglass

unfloat lucent and burnished float

such tiny juicy sun-balloons;

seeds suspended in magic jelly

that unreal light and

viscid thick

reminds me of you and early farm mornings

maybe sleepless nights

thick cream on ice cold milk;

bread so dense it could feed all the hungry mouths in the whole world

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