When You’re Frightened, Honey, Think of Strawberries
 

She remembers now what she was told when she was small: When you’re frightened, Honey, think of strawberries.

So she does. She’s been thinking about them ever since he started talking. While his words bite her she thinks of their spidery tops. She thinks of strawberries as he explains, justifies, tells her why this isn’t working, why this must end. Strawberries: she thinks of all the shades they could be; as pink as her lips or deep, dark, like the blood when he cut his finger dicing onions yesterday. The red of his wound soothes her.

Strawberries she thinks, as he unlatches the door, and she remembers how cold their skins can be. She could think of them in a bowl, cream folded around them, but she doesn’t. She’d rather see them on their own; almost heart shaped. She pictures their seeds, like a hundred lonely eyes. And she wishes they had pits so she could spit them at him.

And because all she can think of are strawberries and pits and colours and leaves, she is unable to reply. There is nothing to say.


* Nik Perring is a writer and workshop leader. He’s published poems, short stories and a children’s book. He blogs here http://nikperring.blogspot.com