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, home-made

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, their 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 joyful tongue.

© by Tamara Madison.
Used with the author’s permission.