Cheryl Leslie

Mulberries

The bees buzzed in the wisteria
next to the veranda –
she could smell its sweet scent,
as she ran up the red cement stairs, feeling the burning heat on her bare soles.
Her t-shirt clung damply to her body, her face beaded with sweat.
Her hands and mouth were stained with the juice
of the fruit she had been picking. She had eaten
almost as many mulberries as she had put into the basket,
and yet her mouth watered
at the thought of the treat in store after lunch –
freshly picked mulberries with cream and sugar.

Freshly picked mulberries with cream and sugar.
At the thought of the treat in store after lunch
her mouth watered.
Almost as many mulberries as she had put into the basket
of the fruit she had been picking, she had eaten.
Her hands and mouth were stained with the juice.
Her t-shirt clung damply to her body, her face beaded with sweat
as she ran up the red cement stairs, feeling the burning heat on her bare soles.
She could smell its sweet scent
next to the veranda –
the bees buzzed in the wisteria.

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