spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
…and the kitchen is a pile of wildflowers, and brightred treasures-early tomatoes, strawberries, cherries, so many cherries and still–
there are never enough cherries, and as they tumble from the market bag, a rain of ruby into the cobalt-colored bowl, suddenly he remembers
the cherry de-pit-i-nator and gets to work, shooting pits like BBs
until the counter is splattered with sweet red juice
and his chin is streaked red and his fingers even his arms and forehead are spattered
crimson everything a sweet red mess of fruit pits juice
It’s just- spring. It’s just-cherries.
No recipes. No fuss. Just simple, sweet, raw cherries
one after the other spring without end.
[It’s just-] joy.