The Last Time I Had Cherries

Inspired by a wonderful discussion of a Louise Glück poem, led by the equally wonderful Mandana Chaffa:

The Last Time I Had Cherries

This morning, I broke the seal
on the plastic bowl the cantaloupes came in,
pre-sliced from the produce market
and carefully measured out
one cup of chunks into a hand-painted white bowl,
glazed by an amateur artist from Kentucky.

I don’t remember her name,
but she carefully painted red cherries
and then green leaves and brown stems.

I have used and washed this bowl
many times, the glazing is chipped and cracked.

With a case knife,
I cut the chunks
into bite size pieces,
sitting in the light
of my kitchen
as the darkened night
waits outside for morning.

There is no irony,
there is no hidden message
in this bottle of a poem,
unless you choose to find one
here.