strawberry season

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April by James Schuyler

The morning sky is clouding up
and what is that tree,
dressed up in white? The fruit
tree, French pear. Sulphur-
yellow bees stud the forsythia
canes leaning down into the transfer
across the park. And trees in
skimpy flower bud suggest
the uses of paint thinner, so
fine the net they cast upon
the wind. Cross-pollination
is the order of the fragrant day.
That was yesterday: today is May,
not April and the magnolias
open their goblets up and
an unseen precipitation
fills them. A gray day in May.

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This is actually a clear May morning, but I wanted to share this poem before we got too far into May. Today I will be turning these into jam (not the water, just the strawberries) with my aunt. May is a lovely month for many reasons, most important among them being strawberry season. We had shortcake last night with some of these beauties. There is not much in the world better than strawberries that were picked that same day with some homemade whipped cream. (If the strawberries can be picked by someone else and delivered right to your workplace . . . and then a nice 8th grade young man can help you carry them to your car, well, even better.)

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