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Pandora's Cellar

Who canned her summer peaches
in her own tears. Fruit

made of daylight, shelved
in a cellar for thirty years.

We found those jars
along with all
the other things she'd hiddenó
wearing yellowed dressesó
after she was dead. That

morning, distant thunder, followed
by a downpour. The lights went

out. They came back on again.

'Dear God," my mother said, turning
around to find me with a mason jar

flashing in my hands. "Do
not take the lid off of that thing, Laura."

But I did. Of course. I had.

Laura Kasischke

Where Now: New and Selected Poems
Copper Canyon Press

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