by Jenna Rozelle
Sometimes I get sad
that I don’t live in a place with pomegranates
but then I smell the bay
ripe with oysters
ready to flood my mouth
with tang,
salted
the ham, hanging
heavier than apples
the onion
palm-fat, pearlescent
enough to make me cry
this ferment of my body
next to yours
at the table
wine-warm
away from wind
fruits of winter
take me home.
About Jenna Rozelle
Jenna Rozelle is a forager, writer, homesteader, and wild foods educator from Maine. She enjoys a generalist approach to the New England outdoors and through her teaching and writing hopes to help people feel curious and comfortable on their home landscapes.
Subscribe to her Substack, at https://JennaRozelle.substack.com
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