strawberry sunrise

today there were strawberries fresh from my baby’s hands

on the kitchen table when i came downstairs in the morning

already reaching for the puttering coffee machine.

she does not quite know how preparing fruit is, yet

sometimes leaving the bundles to ripen for days outside

before i ask her what she wants to do with all that love.

today there were strawberries on the kitchen table

so i took them to the sink for a gentle wash, because

i could see my baby sitting on the porch with her green mug

and i know that is the mug she uses when she is tired,

remembering, and a little heavy with the contents of her chest

all bloated and bumbling over the dirt we used to drag inside.

today there were strawberries on the kitchen table and i

washed them with my hands still slow from clingy sleep

eyes on my baby rocking dewy and dawn beyond the windowsill.

i washed the strawberries on our new countertop

with this very old heart of mine, and for the first time in a

long time, i did not think of pulses when their sweet spilled out