I went to pick wild flowers today

I went to pick wild flowers today, 
not the kind that scream and curse you, 
as you tilt and twist their stem, 
vandalizing a life too brief and brittle for beginners, 
but the kind that welcome you, 
with leaves that sway to touch your skin,

and pedals that quiver like ecstatic teenagers who have just been invited to a party.

Lack of spices

 I love my wife. Not only because she’s the mother of my children, but also because she’s an amazing woman. But every morning, when she prepares breakfast, there’s a stranger at the kitchen door staring at her.

         “Ah, there you are. Your coffee’s ready, honey,” she says, turning around to greet me with that gentle, trusting smile. I smile back, scanning her cheeks, generously sprinkled with her trademark freckles that, after all these years, still enchant me.

I pick up my mug and sit at the table without taking my eyes off her. Slowly, I outline the contours of a body that, every morning, covers itself with a robe the color of a sea storm, and in the silence of the moment, I feel a tightness in my heart.

         “How’s the coffee?” she asks.

I take a sip and stop, unsatisfied with the taste.

         “It’s ah.. not spicy enough.”

         “Spicy?! Coffee’s not supposed to be spicy, honey!”

Pieces of God's soul

Mother adores flowers. She says they are pieces of God's soul. That is why all flowers are precious to her. But when it comes to her favorites, daisies, sweet peas, tiger lilies and orange roses always top the list. Early one morning, when the sun was not fully awaken, mother stepped outside, still in her fluffy pink robe, knelt on the soft grass in front of her garden as if before an altar. Gently, she placed the tiny seeds into the moist soil humming to "Raindrops keep falling on my head". I awoke to the sound of her sweet voice and peeked out my bedroom window. Mother is the most beautiful flower in the garden.

Strawberries

Behind Naomi's house, that's where you'll find them. Red, plump, and juicy. Don't need to wash them. Just pull them from their green umbrellas, blow the vagabond spiders away, lick the dust fairies, and pop them in your mouth, one after the other.

I wish I had a strawberry forest behind my house, so I wouldn't have to cross the street and walk to the end when I felt like having some. I would get up from the dinner table, and before mother could ask, I would say, "I'm going out for dessert, want to come?"