The Kindness and Quiet Desire of Strawberries
Strawberries in these fields are ripe love,
being cradled by the ground, and expanding
until their skins are tight and red and ready
to be eaten. Rising up, your figure, made shadow
by the intense May sun, you stand, press
one strawberry to your lips. I see a halo of light kissing
the edges of your silhouette, and I know you
for a moment. I feel your hand cupping my face,
and the sadness I had sitting here, watching
these berries being taken from their vines,
is muted and trimmed smooth with that touch,
your skin, like milk, running down my cheek.
The strawberries are full of sweetness,
your kindness is full of memories.
Things we shared when we did not know
of each other, in a world where berries
are bruised and shipped and frozen,
their delicate nature, lost to desire.
You, in the field, standing, your long dress
brushing the vines, fingertips gently
grasping the fullness developed in storms
and sunlight, your touch from that distance,
still feels, like kindness, like peace extended,
and the fullness of your lips, rests sweetness.
The image redrawn by the periwinkle twilight
circling my expanding iris, encapsulated forever.
No Fear of Love and Monsters is a forthcoming work from our editor. Read more about this project here.
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