Apricots ripe from the orchard
I can smell them still and feel
Fuzzy nap, the color of peaches
Salmon. We wash them and dry.
“Oh, gentle now”, cut them in two
Pry out the pit with its almondy seed
Heat them in syrup and spoon into hot
Glass jars for the canner to boil and seal
Mama lifts them from the bubbling water.
They sit on a red-stripped kitchen towel
To cool. As I go on up to bed,
I stop to look at the stacked circles,
Touch the lids to check each seal—go
Dream to the spicy sweet summer smell.
Apricots ripe from the orchard;
I can smell them still.
What’s Good About Home! 
So pretty, Elece, and such a sweet poem!
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