Strawberries in the Winter

Strawberries taste like summer, with a sweetness that gives me visions of green strawberry fields

With bright red gems glittering with the morning’s slowly dissipating fog

And fragile white, round-winged butterflies fluttering through the miles and miles of sweet strawberries.

Tasting a strawberry in the midst of a winter, I wonder how far we roam to find strawberries in a place so cold

Across the country, through the snow, to the other side of the world where it isn’t below zero

Or maybe just a little down south, where the porch is warm enough to languidly rock and watch the trucks drive by

Through day and night, to bring these strawberries out of the light and hope they survive.

A journey up the coast, to where the sun doesn’t shine and the earth is too cold for strawberries to grow

They taste like another place, or another time, as I’ve witnessed summer before with my own eyes:

It smells like the green leaves of the strawberry, tastes just as sweet and sounds like cicadas

Feels like sweat on my forehead, my bare feet on sand and a cool salty wind with an ocean wave cadence.

I wonder if strawberries in the winter taste just as nostalgic as pomegranates in the summer

To fully validate the irony in that I only miss one when I’m with the other.

Lagos

There is no wind for whispers; just the silence of the sea.

As the waves lap at my feet, I soundlessly weep at the solace the sun has given my soul.

At last, I am whole, together with the sand from which my form was span

And the salt that seasons my tears.

After so much time alone, I’m finally home to a place I’ve never been.

I long to see that blue sea once again.

Lagos, Portugal

My Name

I don’t need you to call my name to summon me from the depths of hell

In blue-black flames I listlessly dwell, wide awake just for the sake of staying warm.

Remember, December is never far away, and yet it’s been ages since I’ve seen the languid drift of snow

It melted away with all I used to know of your voice, your escape, your sordid show.

I don’t need you to call my name to douse the flames of hell

I’ve come to know them very well, more than your deceitful, demonic spell.

The dark place where you dragged my soul is only a curse if I make it so

I’ve come to peace with death and darkness, with hate and pain and years alone.

Instead, I watch in the glimmering lights as my shadow pirouettes across the floor

Light as a feather, dead as the earth, joyous as the sun, lovely as the moon

Glowing with the fierceness of the sun at noon, I delight in that I won’t hear your voice call

My heart became a rainbow after an endless tear fall

My name is not for your lips; it is for my final and joyous withdrawal.

Drought

She wanted to cry, but no one would let her

Her sighs drew out a single letter

The drought grew long as she held her tears

It hadn’t rained for several years

She wanted to scream but no one could hear her

The thunderous rumble quaked wildly within her

If she could let go of all of her tears

It could rain in the desert the first time in years

Your Shadow

He screamed at a shadow to get out of his way.

Perplexed, she said “Why shout when you could walk right through me?”

He shrugged. “I want to be heard as much as you want to be seen. Now we’re both satisfied.”

So she remained by his side forever to dance before his eyes, and he whispered his dreams to her in the dark.

The Red String of Fate

The sorrow that burdens your heart makes it tremble, a quake whose vibrations even I can feel. It courses through the earth with a magnitude so strong, I feel its tremors rumbling in my chest. It’s unfathomable that something as small as a fist, when broken, opens as wide as a rift in the ocean.

But know that this love you feel is not only pain, as love is what allows me to share it while the earth shifts violently beneath our feet. Know that love is not a heavy iron chain, but a thin thread that can span miles unravelled. With this thread, follow with unwavering steps your aching heart. Only she knows how far away the other end is tied in a safe knot, impervious to any sharp edge.

Beware the whispers of fear in your mind of the trepidation in seeking it out. Bate your breath and only listen for the truth, whispered in a timid secret on a cold bit of wind. The chill that dances over your spine at its carress – that is a truth made only for you. Do you feel it? If yes, don’t turn back lest you be turned to stone. Don’t chase it, or it may run from you.

With your eyes, and with your weary feet, slowly follow that thread of fate. Lay your lies in the dust of what’s dead and desolate. Love, not because it will not hurt you, but because it’s what makes you who you are.