a love pome for february

A street.
A side street off a main street.
A gravel driveway that curves left.
A mailbox, red flag down.
Bucolic, ordinary.
I notice it as I drive past at main street speed.
And in that split second

I remember you and me,
rows of strawberries,
laughing red fingered,
picking baskets of fruit,

early, early, early,

before the heat of another summer morning found us.

4 thoughts on “a love pome for february

  1. I have memories that jump decades and countries but for me the prompt is often weather, so I was surprised–assuming–perhaps mistakenly?–that the side street and gravel in the pome belong to the winter photo and wondered how that triggered a summer flashback. But… I’m being too literal.
    I do not have a poem brain but wonder sometimes if I could write pomes.

    1. Of course you could write pomes! You probably already do.

      (The photo is taken near a place we used to pick strawberries. It’s possible it only makes sense to me. This is the wonder of pomes…)

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