Strawberries glistened in the summer sun.
The red fruit called to first woman,
who stopped to pick a crimson drop.  

She knelt, tasted sweet flesh,
and instantly knew she must
share this new find with first man.   

Any anger was forgotten.
All harsh words forgiven.
Each plucked plump berry was like love.  

Growing up,
strawberries grew,
a wild patch in our backyard.  

Until my mother filed for divorce.
No longer tamed,
tied down by vines.  

She mowed,
destroyed each plant,
and came to life again.