Edwin Morgan

(27 April 1920 – 17 August 2010 / Glasgow / Scotland)

Strawberries


There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you

let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

Submitted: Monday, May 16, 2011
Edited: Monday, May 16, 2011

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  • Rachael Salmon (9/1/2013 3:59:00 PM)

    I read this poem for the first time a couple of years ago and wondered how on earth I had missed it and never heard of the writer. What a find! Exquisite is absolutely the word to describe it. The passion is palpable and as delicious as the strawberries one can't help but imagine. I would, indeed, gladly let the storm wash the plates... (Report) Reply

  • Karen Sinclair (12/5/2012 6:07:00 PM)

    Just heard of Edwin tonight at a poetry group and this poem i thought was exquisite i adore it.....beautiful (Report) Reply

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