November 26, 2004

Les fraises d'antan

Strawberries, we ate,
Big, fat juicy ones,
The liquid running down our fingers like communion wine
Sun-warmed and sticky
Only to be wiped away on the nearest patch of grass.
That spring was a pause
A comma in my life
A rising breath and hic-
before the inevitable exhale of summer.

We sat in the park
by the ginko tree
- and I note here, for the sake of honesty,
that I do not know if it was ginko or sycamore or
any other everyday tree –
but it was there
and it sheltered us
for a time.
I remember it as ginko because I love the word,
The tart, gutteral taste of ginko rolling off of my tongue
And I choose to remember it thus.

How many of my memories are the same?


Blogger Misha Tch. shared an opinion...

Very, very good! It reminds me of Vladimir Nabokov's prose. It always appeals to all the senses: you hear the birth of love, you can see the colors of the sounds, the delicious syrup of the words' fabric drips from your mouth...

4:49 am  

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