My fingers are stained
with magenta ink
the deep, rich color
of pickled beets.
Reminds me of my
childhood, fishing
sweet and tangy slices
from a mason jar.
Today, summer is
heat and frustration,
a broken printer
cartridge and a deadline.
Thirty years ago,
it was smiles and kisses
from my grandmother’s
beet red lips,
and a jar of magenta
staining my fingers.