Cinematic Strawberries

Cinematic Strawberries

By Greta Gale

They are strange things, dreams

cinematic strawberries of the sleeping mind

flickering juice drips out between the corners of the lips

dribbles down the chin and splashes on the ground

it drips across movie screens

paints stories of brash nonsense and surreal elegance

You lift it gently toward you

its rough, seed-studded body supported

by the delicate celluloid leaves at its crown

hesitate before you finally

bite into the soft red film reel flesh

it whispers fantastic stories

sweeter than you ever expected

and now you can’t imagine why you

paused

for even that one brief moment

Hardly a young strawberry

the good ones never are

grown ripe with subconscious genius

matured in the apses of your mind

age has given sweetness to the movies that lie

just under the skin

chance has given you the aged splendor of the berry

The deeper into the heavenly flesh you delve

the sweeter you find the taste

any fear that this will be bitter, sour, rancid

has left you completely

the bright sticky smell of the berry romances you

it consumes every trace of your mind

even as your mind consumes its every seed

And then it’s gone

just as hugely as you felt its presence

its absence resounds instead

nothing to remind you

of what might have been perfect

and at the least mesmerizing

but the drops of juice in a corner of your mind

if you close your eyes you can almost see

what used to dance in those drops

where you saw fantastic things

you see yourself, your mind

reflected in the dome of the strawberry dream