Underwhelming, at first
This hard earned bowl of small fruits
Dusty red
Crumbling
Falling far short of the swollen red monstrosities
Promised by super-market displays
Still, red stained fingers pluck from the bowl
Hands dart to mouths
And pause
A burst of unapologetic joy
The spirit of summer
Our soft pink mouths
Curling inward
Shying away from such naked exuberance
Until only seeds remain
Bitter shadows
Continuing
To promise
Light
