She decides to let go of my hand.
She runs ahead, chooses a row
and sits on the dirt of an unfamiliar world
polka dotted by strawberries,
not sure which one to pick.
Her tiny hand reaches for
the biggest one. All of her fingers
wrap around it and squeeze
too hard and too careless.
She pulls and pulls and when the
strawberry decides to give up its roots
she is unprepared nearly falling backward,
catching herself with her empty hand,
protecting her strawberry in the other.
Her hands are red now as her mouth opens up,
her palm pushes in her prized possession.
She looks up at me over her shoulder
smiling through her red stained lips
as she chews and I can’t help
but smile back.