Fragole, fresas, klubniki, fraises—
is there a term that names them better
than strawberry? I think of sunshine
and straw hats, picnics, boating parties,
a barber shop quartet, homemade
ice cream, grainy and sweet, everything
warm, wholesome, innocent, old fashioned.
Near my house there’s a strawberry field
that begins its work in spring, the stray seeds
emerging unbidden in neighboring gardens,
on walkways, from cracks in the sidewalk,
the clean white petals yielding pale-green
hearts that swell, redden, and fill
with so much happiness to give in their sweet-tart
flesh, the fertile seeds that linger in your teeth
and remind you of a gentle time only moments
ago when you tasted the essence of summer
on your grateful tongue.
NOTE: Have you ever read anything that TASTED so good? I love this yummy, summery poem. To read more by Tamara Madison and other poets and authors, check out Summer: An Eclectic Anthology of Poetry & Prose, published by Silver Birch Press.