Vox Populi
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Jim Daniels: Strawberry
the final time I saw my mother she was trying to find the last strawberry on her plate. I walked up behind her and kissed the top of her head and said I love you. She reached up a sticky hand and brushed away where I kissed then lowered it again into the juicy bowl. I was going to say we never know which strawberry will be our last but I think she knew— damn slippery thing.
Copyright 2022 Jim Daniels
Jim Daniels‘s many collections of poetry include Gun/Shy (Wayne State University Press, 2021). He lives in Pittsburgh where he taught at Carnegie Mellon University as the Thomas Stockham Baker University Professor of English.
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goo poem!
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I agree, Yongbo!
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wonderful stuff Jim! I should have thought of this wonderful poem. My mother argued with me about getting her hip fixed, said she’d rather “just walk out into the ocean,” and I had to say “If you get your hip fixed then you’ll be able to walk out into the ocean…” She actually liked that thought…laughed at herself.
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Oh, too many thoughts today of mom’s Alzheimer’s. Mothers Day. And now her birthday, May 10 and the jacaranda in full purple where she stood at the window snd declared its beauty, over and over—each time the first time.
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Beautifully said, Barbara!
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How that last line is perfect — makes your heart hurt, and yet, how it avoids all sentimentality! Perfect! What a good poem!
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