What You Missed![]() You weren’t there so you didn’t see that strawberry— resting with her sisters on the square of newsprint all tumbled together in saucy exuberance red to make pomegranate envious confident cousins of their modern pale, woody relations— confined to green plastic baskets imprints on their gridded flesh left to sag, fuzzy and disheartened an embarrassment to berries everywhere. No, this one knew herself: diminutive scarlet goddess plucked from the garden of a backwoods witch just as her juices ran reddest, just as she always meant to be. You did not take that bite. You did not lick the berry blood from your fingers, then close your eyes to listen to the dust float down on the sunshine, the susurration of the pines whispering poems of spiders and sap. I come back to fruit domesticated by white ceramic and silver serrated knife, and can only think of her— the last wild strawberry on that square of newsprint smudged with a smear of soft cheese amongst Gretel’s breadcrumbs so carelessly strewn: sacrament to my senses: how she surrendered herself! bursting with sweet agony as I crushed her against my tongue— leaving only a ruby stain and crumpled green stars still fragrant with forest. ©L. Michelle Quraishi, 2008 Michelle Quraishi, BAWP 2001, taught for many years. Currently, she runs around after her almost-two-year-old and tries to understand his spoken word. She breaks dawn every morning by writing three pages in her journal and three hundred words of her novel-in-progress, The House of Doors. She can be reached at jahatama@yahoo.com.
Lovely to see your poetry up here! Enjoy the strawberries and your baby.
Beautiful! Reminds me of the sweet wild blueberries I picked this summer and how they paled in comparison to their fleshy, overgrown cultivated cousins.
Beautiful! Reminds me of the sweet wild blueberries I picked this summer and how they paled in comparison to their fleshy, overgrown cultivated cousins.
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