Alone
Red
The
edges of the grass prickle
my
skin through the crimson, plaid
blanket.
I pry open the small basket
mother
gave me to pull out a
single
plump
strawberry.
I
am too young to understand
the
pitied expressions dancing
across
the faces of the family
sitting
to my left
and
the plump couple
crouched
in front of me.
I
smile and shoo them away,
happy
with my treat,
and
I take my first bite.
The
juice splashes and squirts,
a
drop dripping free,
staining
my white skirt
red,
the
spot like a tear of blood
by itself
in
a field of snow.
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