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.
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