W. F. Lantry Verse-Virtual 2016 April

April 2016

I spent many years walking the deserts and climbing the mountains of Southern California. Now I spend time in the Eastern Forests from Maryland to Vermont and practice woodworking near the Anacostia River. I hold a PhD in Writing from the University of Houston. My poetry collections are The Terraced Mountain(Little Red Tree 2015), The Structure of Desire (Little Red Tree 2012) winner of a 2013 Nautilus Award in Poetry, The Language of Birds chapbook (Finishing Line 2011) and a forthcoming collection, The Book of Maps. Honors include the National Hackney Literary Award in Poetry, Lindberg Foundation International Poetry for Peace Prize (in Israel), and Potomac Review Prize. My work has appeared in Atlanta Review, Asian Cha and Valparaiso Poetry Review. Currently I work in Washington, DC. and am an associate fiction editor at JMWW. More at: wflantry.com.

Strawberries

They come in baskets. At our corner store,
displayed on stands, bright red, their tender skin
mottled by freckled seeds, they almost call
to draw me close, but in their fields sprawl
across the mounds of earth, where tendrils spin,
stretch, clutch, until they root and start to swell.

Here, cradled in a fabric I know well,
like lace or brabant, basketed and neat
end-pointed, tempting, rounded, plump with juice,
even the thought of tasting can seduce
my mind from occupations, which their sweet
essence renders forgettable: sublime,

their fragrance pushes me outside of time
and place: they seem eternal in their short
moments of ripeness- just now, perfectly
themselves, complete, they almost seem a key
to everything we’ve hoped, a first resort
and answer to our questioning of why

we should continue, even as this sky
darkens all afternoon, since, dipped in cream
or chocolate, luscious sensations give
even the wearied soul more cause to live
if only to partake, delight, and dream
of all those still untasted, and want more.

"Strawberries" first appeared in Atlanta Review