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Cynthia Gallaher
Here Come the Strawberries
low-down strawberry plants play their cards
close to modestly woven chests,
every hand, making sure to keep
the queen of hearts hidden.
they hide quite a few,
where girlish pulses
become rhythmic womanly beats,
as mothers beget daughters
a rosy network
where veins and arteries
connect, form full-blooded bodies,
ready for suitors.
block-long rows, virginally bedecked in May white,
where bees swoon among papery, invitational blossoms
transform into succulent Valentines
riddled with sexy sienna seed messages.
each berry becomes June’s most beautiful bride,
languid and scarlet on an unmade bed of straw
even before betrothal. Once plucked, tasty celebrations
last for weeks at the farmers market.
you may have missed the wedding,
but now gladly attend the reception,
as the vendor hands you a woven basket
filled with ripe, firm strawberries
tumbling toward you
like oversized ruby engagement rings,
it is you
who catches the bouquet.
Lemon Balancing Act
Daytime novas
burst against leafy sky,
picked to honor
Mediterranean hand-thrown bowls,
juiced to lace through pasta,
lavish sangria.
A contrarian in one twist,
wreaking negative charge
to make water wetter,
hydrate athletes, tickle taste buds,
a 180-degree trick with citric acid.
Imitated, never duplicated,
even when transformed into
a notorious Led Zeppelin mascot,
Volkswagen pin-up,
dubiously lit candle,
soap not easily held.
Cynthia Gallaher, a Chicago-based poet, is author of four poetry collections, including Epicurean Ecstasy: More Poems About Food, Drink, Herbs and Spices, and three chapbooks, including Drenched. Her award-winning nonfiction/memoir/creativity guide is Frugal Poets’ Guide to Life: How to Live a Poetic Life, Even If You Aren’t a Poet.One of her poems will be sent on NASA's manned flight to the south pole of the moon later this decade.
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