Preserve

Preserve 

It’s been eight years since she boiled and sugared and funneled 
the peaches, the house smelling of heat and honey,
a dozen jars rattling in the roiling pot like trapped crabs.
Now, they gather along the laundry room wall 
in a graying layer of lint, of soap flakes, 
of hundreds of flung flannel pajamas 
floating down from the shoot
like a shroud.