Halloween

This morning, I fill the sink with cold water 
and vinegar, swirl flavorless strawberries 
until my hand grows numb. I am trying now 
to save things, even pesticide-laden fruit, 
even us. It is only October and last night
it snowed an ugly snow, thin and resentful. 
I hated it. It was nothing like that surprise 
snow we had in Texas, the big flakes
I packed into small marbles and stored 
in the freezer. Later, we palmed the hard 
memories of pleasure until they melted.
Maybe I’ve been working to save things 
for a while. Tonight, children will wander 
our street through fallen red leaves asking 
for sweetness. Our daughter has decided 
she’s more witch than fairy, and we abide. 
Who are we to say who anyone else is 
when we hardly know ourselves. I drain
the sink and rinse the berries in fresh water 
so they won’t taste like vinegar. They won’t 
taste like anything, really, but you
won’t believe how long they’ll last.

Read more from Issue 21.2.