Poetry by Meredith Escudier
The first one, not purple but pink
not yet luscious, but lovely
the promise of sweet abundance
of a backyard crop-to-come.
My grandson spied it,
seized it, plucked it,
placing it like a prize
on the tip of his finger
because just the right size
to snuggle into a raspberry’s insides.
Look, Grandma, the first one!
Together we inspected and admired it,
our forerunner raspberry,
rosy precursor, ephemeral elder.
Would he eat it, offer it, save it
for later, nibble away meticulously
tiny bit by tiny bit…or instead
gobble it up, here we go, let ‘er rip?
He surveyed his treasure
just a little longer, still safely perched
on his dancing index finger then
jubilantly (whoosh) popped it into his mouth.
He swirled it about as it released its juice,
his 5-year-old eyes crinkling and creasing
and with a catch in my throat,
I got a passing glimpse
of my last little grandson
far off into the future
on a day when an old man
yet relishes a raspberry.
Meredith Escudier has lived in France for over 35 years, teaching, translating, and raising a family. She writes about French language and culture, food and music. Her latest book – Play it Again, Jacques – features 20 French singer/songwriters who have accompanied and enriched her life over the years.
