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Ginny Lowe Connors


No pumped-up, tasteless decorator
berries here, just this thin box
warped and stapled, heavy with its heap
of small fruit, radiantly red.

When I hand over a few bills
to the freckled girl stretching
her long legs toward me, I feel Iíve gotten
away with somethingó

Iím five again, Mother busy
inside with the baby, and Iíve made myself
scarce, stretched out on my belly
in our garden patch, sandy soil

warm as a body holding me. The house
with its sad smell of milk, diapers
soaking in a pailó itís off in the distance now,
nearly disappeared. Iím snaking my hand

into the ticklish leaves to pluck
a sun-warmed berry, popping
it into my mouth. And another. Another.
No waiting till later. I donít have to be

patient; I donít have to be good.
No bigger than the tip of my thumb,
sweet berries in their little green caps,
fragrant, beaded with tiny seedsó

Birds have picked some over already,
leaving, not holes exactly, but glimpses
of tender white bellies, unadorned.
When I touch the messy edge of one

it feels like a secret I shouldnít know.
My fingers are stained. I admire them,
lick them a little, feel tension
in the stem as I pull at another berry.

My teeth carry the flesh to my pleasured
tongue, and juice keeps the sweetness
going. The seedy nubs give just enough
resistance. Everything I want.

This poem first appeared in Long River Run.
Used here with permission.

Ginny Lowe Connors is a retired English teacher in West Hartford, Connecticut. She has published several collections of poems, including Toward the Hanging Tree: Poems of Salem Village, and she has edited a number of poetry anthologies, such as Forgotten Women: A Tribute in Poetry. Ginny runs a small press, Grayson Books, and co-edits Connecticut River Review, a national poetry journal. Learn more about her at  





Post New Comment:
Maren O. Mitchell:
Ginny, thank you for this gift of living memories. They live now for your readers.
Posted 07/09/2020 10:59 PM
Don?t know what the question marks are about?ignore, please.
Posted 07/09/2020 10:40 PM
What a marvelous poem?I?m right there with you, picking, tasting the sweetness in the juice, away from the ?sad smell of milk, diapers. Your details are so vivid and refreshing.
Posted 07/09/2020 10:39 PM
Lori Levy:
I agree with the others' comments!
Posted 07/09/2020 07:12 PM
Vividly descriptive and appealing
Posted 07/09/2020 04:06 PM
You made me feel 5 again, too. Thank you for sharing!
Posted 07/09/2020 02:50 PM
Washing, cutting, and eating strawberries will never be the same after reading this very well crafted poem. ?Sad smell of milk, diapers...? so precise, so revealing, as finney wrote.
Posted 07/09/2020 12:09 PM
Jean Colonomos-1:
I can taste your strawberries.
Posted 07/09/2020 11:12 AM
Cathyís Sister:
We were able to purchase some strawberries at a local farm in May. What a difference from the grocery store offerings with their ?pumped up, tasteless decorator berries!.? Enjoyable poem,
Posted 07/09/2020 10:45 AM
I too am captivated by the "I don't have to be patient. I don't have to be good." line. Wonderful picture in this poem.
Posted 07/09/2020 09:43 AM
You had me at ?radiantly red.?
Posted 07/09/2020 09:41 AM
Delicious poem. Wish I had some strawberries for my Cheerios--tasteless blueberries from Costco will have to do.
Posted 07/09/2020 09:36 AM
You brought me down there in the dirt, child-eye level, with that wonderful felt sense of what it was like to be picking, eating, tasting, and finger-licking. Bravo. Randy
Posted 07/09/2020 09:29 AM
"I don't have to be patient. I don't have to be good"!!! What freedom. I like this poem.
Posted 07/09/2020 09:12 AM
Nabby Dog:
This is a stunning poem filled with such great vivid images. What a delicious gift to start the day!
Posted 07/09/2020 09:04 AM
I will cut strawberries into my Cheerios this morning.
Posted 07/09/2020 08:52 AM
Gilbert Allen:
I like the way the present moment and the childhood memory illuminate one another.
Posted 07/09/2020 08:50 AM
michael escoubas:
Really like the details in this poem and the sweet lusciousness of feeling and tasting. I've lived this and this poem returns me to the patch.
Posted 07/09/2020 08:31 AM
? feels like a secret I shouldn?t know.? What a delicious phrase, Ginny. And ?...sad smell of milk, diapers soaking in a pail...?, an image so precise and revealing.
Posted 07/09/2020 07:08 AM
Sharon Waller Knutson:
I love this picturesque nostalgia poem. I can see the vibrant red strawberries, smell them and taste them. Very well crafted poem.
Posted 07/09/2020 06:09 AM

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