Strawberries

I never miss her when I hear her name,
or when I see her walking ’round our work,
or when I hear her laugh — ’tis all the same,

I hardly even notice anymore —
I only feel it slightly when she smiles.
The dreams have even stopped, they’ve grown so bored

of her — it really only took a while.
So now have I discovered I am free.
Yes, seeing her no longer is a trial.

But then the scent of strawberries touches me,
as though it rose from off her hair to sip
the air around, and brings the memories

all back. So all security then slips.
It tastes like powdered sugar on my lips.

Paul Lytle