this is not about the strawberry moon
round and ruby red
speckled and freckled just so
as a child we grew strawberries tucked
behind the jalapeños and roma tomatoes
near the pale pink peony bush
blooms large as the moon
in an early june gloom
brother and i would toddle
out only to find our precious
berry harvest plucked by birds
of the air, swallowed were the seeds
and sweet fruit whole
sating their bellies deep, those wings
gone with the wind before
i could cry accusatory tears
next year, mom simply put up nets
8 thoughts on "this is not about the strawberry moon"
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I love the repeated sounds of ” large as the moon/in an early june gloom”
This delightful poem! I love your title and the rebellious journey of the birds. I love the specifics of jalapenos and Roma tomatoes. It adds more spice.
Your poem and disappointment are as tender and sweet as those missing strawberries.
Title drew me in.
Love the sounds and visual here:
large as the moon
in an early june gloom
Your word choice is so delightful!!
I especially love how you describe where the strawberries hide and how their “harvest” takes place.
Crying is more poetic; nets more effective! But your poem encompasses a beautiful memory!
My aunt and uncle grew strawberries one year and I worked there one day, picking nineteen quarts and eating countless big ripe, sweet ones. Your poem draws me back to that day…