> ## Content Index
> Fetch the complete content index at: https://dianaludwick.com/llms.txt
> Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further.

# Jars
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/jars/
- Published: 2026-03-21T22:59:06.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:10:29.000Z
- Description: “Jars,” a humorous homily for my gathered emotional support jars, written March 21, poem 080 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. Photo by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026.
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Humor, Petty, Poems, Bonne Maman, Emotional Support Jars (TM), Husband Wife Dynamics, It has Potential, Jars, March, Pack Rat, Perimenopause, relationships, Spring, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

I am of the age where I have   
a cabinet full of   
Emotional Support Jars (TM).  
  
These hefty glass   
and ceramic containers,  
I have harvested  
with love and care  
from local sources:  
the fridge  
the pantry  
and on occasion  
borrowed from —   
if not returned to —  
unsuspecting   
loved ones.  
  
The Interwebs told me  
there would be Use  
there would be Purpose  
there would be Value  
there would be Reason.  
  
My husband sees:  
Obstacles  
Clutter  
Chaos  
Confusion.  
  
And I had made  
the mortal mistake  
of saying out loud that:  
"Babe! We need   
more storage space."  
  
I had meant, like,  
*Let's do a kitchen reno.*  
But he had only heard:  
"We own too much."  
  
And now, here I am.  
Sitting and contemplating  
both my flawed mouth  
and my vast collection.  
  
I was able to successfully   
campaign to keep  
those cheery red and white  
magical jars of endless need:  
the Bonne Maman  
— both traditional full-size   
and mini perfect jarlettes.  
  
But these petit yoghurt cups?  
The ones with no caps?  
The ones that I can buy  
aesthetic wooden caps for,   
online?   
The ones that are   
wobbly and irregular?  
  
No, I could not   
convince my peer  
that they —   
*not even the wee blue ones!*  
— deserved any   
of our precious shelf space.  
  
And so, with a   
perimenopausal pout,  
I relented.   
  
I scooped up   
these pots  
which I'd   
collected all year.  
  
I clanked them   
en masse   
into the household's  
glass and cans   
recycling bin.  
  
I said a short eulogy  
while serving side-eye   
in the direction of my   
visionless husband  
\[I could hear him groan\]:  
  
"Dear little pots   
of much promise,  
may you find joy  
in a future form.  
Long may you carry."