deliciously round fruit hangs from branches adorned with the scarlet leaves of November,

but it's May.

She yearns for their taste and

r

e

a

c

h

e

s

for its branches.

Unlike the sly fox jumping for sour grapes,

she knows these will definitely pucker her mouth

and leave a slightly acrid burn in the back of her jaw

one she knows all too well.

Yet the young girl of 19 plucks these sour cherries

shoving them in fistfuls into her pockets 

while a different mother supervises her.

Nature beams adoringly as she picks for the mature woman of 8

peeking timidly from the scar in her chest.

Healing.