Strawberries

They came out funny,

like broken hearts.

I’m not sure what went wrong.

I followed the instructions.

Planted in July, not too close together, good soil,

watered well. Every day,

like clockwork, as soon as I got home.

You were fading, I could see that.

So I grew strawberries.

Planted them, nurtured them, gave them love.

A few weeks, they said.

Nothing to be done.

One month later, flowers.

I picked one, put it on your pillow.

You smiled.

I promised I’d bring them to you.

You slept.

And now, here they are.

In a bowl, picked and plucked.

Like broken hearts,

all for you.