Big berries

After work, we sit on the yellow couch,

crayon-tracked now and covered in shoe schmutz,

to share the strawberries I bought as soon as we got off the train

and sprinkled with real sugar.

 

I let my son lance the side of a giant

heart-shaped berry and watch as he pulls its elusive veins

with jagged milk teeth, trusting each time

the fruit won’t escape into the polished

white bowl.

 

I remember sharing strawberries with my father who always took

the big ones drenched in sugar before pointing with his chin

at the smaller ones for me to take.

In all the years I shared with my father

I never imagined

the smaller ones were easier.

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