- Books, Literature, and Writing
Memories flood my mind,
Floating through my thoughts,
Some beautiful, some glorious, others more spectacular still.
Vague and somewhat dim appears one not so grand and yet so dear.
A bright red tomato opens at the command of the sharp blade.
A stream of the fruits blood runs down the arm and my eyes follow,
A scarlet drop falls from the wrist but my eyes continue their journey.
I look into her eyes but she ignores my angry gaze.
My little eyes that barely reach above the cool tile sink blaze for attention.
"Why can't I have my way?"
"Why can't I play?"
"No," is all she would say.
"I don't love you anymore," spoke my pouting lips.
My fingers crossed behind my back; my oath they did betray.
Expecting her tears and attention as she turned with hands on hips,
"That's alright," she says, and continues her chores to my dismay.
Flopping down onto the kitchen chair I flush with anger turning crimson red,
For now I am the tomato, sliced to the heart, tears streaming down.
Yes, it's vague and somewhat dim,
But I remember the little tomato in mothers' hands.