|Photo Courtesy of Poetry Jam|
A trickle of sweat defies
the rapidly moving paper fan
imprinted with the Savior's face.
My red tongue licks the salt
from my upper lip, almost
giving away my secret. His eyes
remind me of my transgression,
but I cannot resist temptation.
I pop another sinfully sour
red explosion into my mouth,
careful not to swallow the pit.
The perfumed shade and the
stickiness of the imperfect
ones upon the ground
make me think, for a moment,
that I am in heaven. I stop
fanning and look into His eyes
and ask forgiveness. He understands.
I hope my grandmother will, too.
by Margaret Bednar, Art Happens 365, June 14, 2011
One of my earliest memories is of my grandmother's cherry trees and our family picking cherries in the summer. My mom canned and I'm sure my love for cherry pie began with that tree...
This is for the "Poetry Jam". Click and check out the other participating poets. I also submitted this for One Stop Poetry's "One Shot Wednesday #50". I was the 115th entry! I guess it is the place to be on Wednesdays! :)