Cherry Girl

CHERRY GIRL She stood in the rain there Keeping dry her black hair And red lips , full and round On a windy corner of town. The rain beaded her plastic sheet Protecting the cherries from the street. Fruit filled with sun from less rainy days. With memories of the sun’s warm ways - They told a tale of southern climes And milder winters, warmer times. Black cherries, red cherries, Glorious, luscious, shining berries. She dug her hands into a pile Of a luscious far-south cherry, Ripe and red - all the while Testing the full-round berry, Feeling for soft form With probing fingers firm, Scooping up a large handful, Feeling its weight with her pull, And pushing it slowly And so carefully Into a thin containing bag, So that it fitted snug. Black cherries, ripe but fresh, With thick juice to spill. Red ones with strong tang of south Sun in their soft flesh, Keeping their liquid, until It near melted in the mouth. The fruits of southern ground Red and black and softly round Memories of warming sun around The cherry girl in the rainy town.