. . . .
Each year for what seemed like
F
O
R

E

V


E


R, to a child that is.
A off- white house sat nestled
between the L

I L

H
S and V
S



A
Y



L E



L
Of a curved road,
in which a child would recall,

Almost country.

From blacktop road to perfect
G
R

A

Y gravel.
Solid cement, well known.

Over left,

to a child it felt like


Lush gardens.
Over right,

a child feels drawn into a

much bigger

lush gardens.
B
L N E N
A A
C I G on the
Two by four around the
C
O

R


N E R
In the shade

Dew was glistening

Bright shades of red.

Nanu’s strawberries.

Crouching,

Eyes searched . . . . Finally!
Fingers lightly grasped the
tiny dew covered strawberries
L

I

G


H


T


L



Y
tug, P P!

O

Pushing till the

roughness touched

S K I N.
Pulling the leaves off,
and a light crunch of a stem.

Fingers pulled,
Teeth sank

Juiced


r


i


p


p


e


d
down fingers.

Again; Fingers pulled,
teeth sank,
sweet. sugar. sour. juice.
gushing, gushing lusciousness.

I shall never forget

Nanu’s.