Today I read a poem,

Strawberries by Edwin Morgan. I was supposed to be listening to a lecture about cough and dyspnea, but I couldn't pay attention to a single word because I could not stop thinking about this poem. I could picture his plate of strawberries as if we had once shared it together. This poem made me think, and then it made me sad, and in the end, it made me write my own poem. Here it is:

Today, I read a poem

In the middle of a three hour lecture on

what it means when people can’t breathe.

The air was already warm

Drifting through my balcony window,

Reminding me of summers past,

of you

Who have always talked about the melancholy

Of soft summer nights.

Strawberries and sugar,

There is no better picture of summer.

Sticky fingers and stained lips,

And closeness;

Clumsy knees, arms brushing against each other.

The heat of it all

And how we did not mind

And how we pretended not to notice.

How can I tell you gently,

That I do not long for you,

Nor for that summer,

Nor for our strawberries.

But for the ease of our happiness

With enough that we could waste

And give, and forget.

How foolish it was

To have not have taken more,

While it was still as simple

as a blue plate of soft strawberries

and melted sugar.