When my father died
A neighbor gave us
A plum tree
To plant in the backyard
My mother said
We didn’t have one
Instead of thank you
The woman was divorced
And Catholic
With two kids
She worked
At the phone company
Which was unusual
Considering 1979
It didn’t take long
For the ruby fruit
To turn
For her to take to
Canning jam
Rows of mason jars
In the dark garage
She was always
After me to try it
But I wouldn’t
Not on sourdough toast
Or with biscuits and eggs
Even when she promised
It wasn’t too sweet
(The Chariton Review, Winter 2018)