A jar of cherry jam
A thousand spoonfuls won’t suffice
To satisfy this sweet tooth
Helplessly entering its demise
My mind won’t stop replaying
The intricacies of a recipe my ripe lips once devoured with pleasure
And a tiny hint of intensity
My tastebuds won’t stop reminiscing
The tender promise of eternity
Found in a jar of cherry jam you filled tirelessly
My hands won’t stop reconstructing
The precise textures and flavors
Stored in a delight you created perfectly
My ears won’t stop craving
The purity of your voice as you handed me the jar gently
Saying “Enjoy, janiges, and don’t you forget me.”
***
Written in loving memory of my recently departed grandmother, Angel Der Arakelian, née Nahigian. She was a woman of rare grace and strength, deeply devoted to her family in a way that shaped every room she entered and every life she touched.
Among my most cherished memories of her is the ritual of her jam, made with cherries gathered from the orchards of the Troodos Mountains in Cyprus, where my grandparents would spend their summers, held gently by the rhythm of the land and the warmth of long, sunlit days.
When cherry season arrived and I would visit, she would place a jar – sometimes two, sometimes three – into my hands with a knowing smile, as if offering not just jam but a piece of her own joy. I would receive them with uncontained delight, as though each jar held a gift far greater than sweetness alone.
Even now, I can still taste it. And more than that, I can still feel her, present in the memory, steady in the heart and, somehow, enduring beyond time. I trust that her presence will never fade, carried forward in everything I am and everything I remember.
