The Berry Giver
by Glenn Horvath
My name is Strawberry R. Plant
I was bought by my master at a discount grocery store.
I sit in a white plastic bucket
with a hook for hanging outdoors
I don’t hang, I sit
on the top shelf
of a cheap black plastic book case.
I was placed on a balcony in a low rent socialist apartment complex in Germany.
Luckily, the inner courtyard is full of trees, bushes, plants, and flowers
If I had eyes
it would be a decent view.
I don’t know if I’m male or female but I do know I want to produce berries
It feels like my mission in life...
I have just started to plume
small pink-ish buds
flowers which feels rather feline
so I must be a female...
I am, however, silent
so I let my bright pink/red flowers
call out to nature.
I let my sweet perfume waft in the breeze
and It calls to the bees
to pollinate me
I dance in the breeze, with these leaves
I must be female,
my need to attract
I am calling every day,
in my own silent way...
It is now July and I have not produced
one- single -berry!
Shitinski, berry season is over now
My flowers are slowly dying,
withering, blithering and shrivelling,
brown and black
Falling down floating down slipping down
I am so sad
I’m so madcap
Out I push more flowers,
just to get me some sun
soft untouched velvet petals,
Red and greensoft
blown by the wind
and... away they go...
Some of my leaves have died,
My master plucks them off me
and throws them over the balcony!
Some flowers fall to the floor,
having never ever been touched
and there one can see them
lying on the cold dirty concrete floor
I sit deep now, fully in blossom
Open to all
In full glorious bloom, righteous and tall
Me seducing nature,
only to have God turned her back on me!
I have not produced one single strawberry!
I cannot hold my leaves up much longer.
There is a droopiness to me,
I languish with droop and desire
of what may not ever be...
I no longer call myself Strawberry Plant and I hate nature,
secret selfish shitty silences
And her denial. Her pleasure at my begging
At least my owner can scream and rave ...and he does!
I must sit, in quiet acceptance of my insults and wilt in shame
I’ve been embarrassed at my pride,
at my silly flowers, my nature
My growing in the sun, so in need
freezing in the night.
My stupidity and hope
Only to be unfulfilled
Jealous of other berry givers
(Updated! 1 month later)
Good God Almighty
Secret Service bees must have come
and greedy after a late season binge.
On September 11th,
I gave birth, for 27 hours
to two small niedlish strawberries
Everything has now changed
Oh how shallow I was, how pithy
At long last I am a berry giver!
A Berry Giver!
my master is eating them all,
that greedy pig...
Takes them right off the stem.
He seems to like them,
He’s eaten everyone
It is now October
and I am still a bearer of fruit
Oh how wrong was I?
Oh how wrong I was
I’m a late bloomer
Red flowers, small berries, green leaves, yellow leaves, white flowers
Sorry I doubted you.
Strawberry R. Plant