A red harvest the size of my fore-thumb
It’s small hairs feel like velvet tickling my palm
Seeds stick to my molars, a peeve to remove

Blue skies expand to the farthest corners of my world
I’m young
A touch of my finger allows the sweetness to fall
Right into my bucket, bouncing against each other and the walls
Too soon, Mother calls me in for dinner
We place the trophies into the freezer for winter

White snow on the grass as I sit inside my Iowa home
Thinking about the sweeter than strawberry, pungent taste
Of Washington’s best crop
I go to the fridge to try one again

With closed eyes, I am back in my hometown
Lying in the yard with evergreens
Enjoying the same treat, but fresh from the bush

A time when I was carefree, it was sunny, I was happy.
The fruit is now juice going through my body
That’s it, I’m done, amazed at how just a fruit can take me back
To a wonderful memory