Something is Ripening

or simply, a gratitude list

Photo by Kat Kelley

Under the strawberry moon, something is ripening.

A soft rain fell today, making tender everything it touched – the stones, the roof, my body.

My best friend brings me a green melon. Try this she says, isn't it beautiful?

Certain street corners still smell like lilac and hope and the sound of ice cubes melting in my coffee.

I watched a woman buy food for the boy in front of her because his card was not working. She said it was her pleasure.

My sister calls. She wants to know if I'll have dinner with her and I know it is her way of letting me know she misses me.

I talk to my plants as I water them. In my roots I know they hear me because they reply by standing tall and flowering.

Under the strawberry moon, something is ripening.

An old friend called the other day. She tells me she remembers when we were only six and the way we played in the backyard in our cotton underwear. I remember, too.

I buy myself the smoothie I've wanted for days and it tastes even better than I remembered driving around with the windows down, Dire Straits on repeat.

I think of my dad and the way he sings while playing guitar. I've never heard another voice that sounds like his.

Under the strawberry moon, something is ripening.

I look at myself in the mirror, turning side to side and I allow myself to like what I see – a heart full of gratitude for calloused feet and dirty fingernails, eyes full of sweet acceptance for unbrushed hair and also unbrushed teeth, a mind full of words like purple and picnic and hope.

Something is ripening under this strawberry moon.

My bleed comes and I cry until I no longer feel the land beneath my feet. I'm ok I tell the dog, and I mean it.

Do you ever cry because something is so beautiful? Because somehow you are you and the world is yours and strawberries taste like 12 years old and sleepovers in the backyard, under the full moon?