Table for One (A Fable)
The best strawberry I ever ate was a garnish.
It spread inside my mouth
like a little lie,
molars doing their best
truth, truth, truth
while the juices crept
into the crevices where I store my words,
sugary accessories sticking
to my vocabulary,
my red becoming redder, reddest,
the only red.
Later, I was touching names
and licking my fingers,
poking around in my teeth for adjectives,
wanting to tell you
how I spent my day alone,
but all I’d left was the vague taste of tiny seeds.
I tell you it was true
what I said about the strawberry,
though I may have spread it like a little lie.