This year the little bushes
off our kitchen porch
have yielded a scant harvest
a mere handful
of the purple fruit
which like the native fox grape
grows at random
in the sandy island soils
grape sized berries that
have given us
in summers past
a dozen jars
of deep pink jelly
translucent
tart and with a flavor
like none other
so that along with bluefish
and sweet corn
grown on island farms
the jelly is for me the taste
of Martha's Vineyard
evoking memories of
childhood expeditions
to fill our buckets
and the kitchen magic
our mother would perform
straining the sweetened juice
and once the jelly set
melting the parafin
to seal the little jars
placed in the kitchen window
so that the sun
could show the jelly's
color to advantage
this year no jelly making
but the purple globes
clinging to grey branches
here and there
among the leaves
bring back to mind the taste
at once both tart and sweet
like life itself