Strawberry

"And home they went as fast as they could go, over the bridge, up the road, through the meadow, and under the fence. And there, sure enough...." (The Poky Little Puppy)

I

My favorite part of The Poky Little Puppy
is where he finds a strawberry growing
on the ground and it means that someone
is making strawberry shortcake at home.
Since I first heard the story I’ve waited
through smelling the rice pudding
and hearing the chocolate custard
for that magical strawberry in the grass
that the puppy knew to sniff and all
of his brothers knew the meaning of.
What better to make a young boy look
at a woman’s shoe he finds one day
damming up the rain gutter, and smell
the impossible, god sent aroma of love
filling his whole being from the sinuses
out, with anticipation of a day he can’t
possibly brace himself for, one he’ll fall
asleep to every night for the rest of his life.

II

But I recall that it was after the strawberry
that the poky puppy learned his lesson.
He plodded back, over the bridge with it’s red
bark of curling paint and bowed wooden slats,
up the road with weeds growing between the ruts,
across the meadow full of dragonflies, and up
to the fence where the hole was now filled in.
As he stood outside, looking for a wide hole
in the fence to squeeze through, I’m sure
his head was heavy with images: the ripe
berry, numinous as a burning bush; his mother,
stern and wise, waiting for him inside; and
a new one, with no face, no name, and no place
in his heart yet–the one that keeps us up too,
wondering at the powers that put things
down in the grass for us, and the ones
that devour them before we know their meaning.