motherhood · parenthood · poetry

Strawberries

Ours is an everyday sort of love
For now.
For now, no trips to Disneyland, no high-profile camps, no particularly deep conversations.
I rinse strawberries, heart-shaped, immodestly, splendidly red.
I slice quickly through their pulpy flesh,
Such a simple thing, hardly requiring effort or thought.
I slide the plate between the two of you and in no time it’s nothing but ruddy smears and grins.
More strawberries please!!
This is how our love goes
For now:
Strawberries.
And in exchange,
Car seat songs,
Proffered rocks,
A single dandelion from a proud little fist, more beautiful than a dozen long-stemmed roses.
A hug, a rubbed back,
A silent “I love you” at the kitchen table.
You’re a great mom.
You’re a great kid.
No weekend jaunts to Broadway yet, or spas,
But snuggling with books before breakfast
And a tenderly-wrapped towel after bath time.
No big sporting events yet,
But running from the mouth of the cul-de-sac to our driveway
And playing catch with any accommodating ball.
This is how our love goes
For now.
Yes, you may have some more strawberries.

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