The light is a liar here.
The sun ignores the clock
and works overtime,
its soft glow as though
some big hand turned
the dimmer down and
left it there all night.
Walking down the quiet street
with my little companion and her dog,
all I hear is the scuffle of our feet
and the snuffle of the dog.
Red flashes from
roadside bushes,
and she gathers a handful of rubies
and holds them out to me.
The darkest ones are the sweetest, she says.
I bite, the seedy juice bursting on my tongue.
Our fingers and lips are red
and on our way back,
I think this is one
of so many firsts waiting for me.
A late night walk, gathering berries
in hushed sunlight.
Gorgeous!
The title made me expect deception, but the poem gives us something gentler: light bending the rules so the day can hold one more small discovery. I especially liked the berries as “a handful of rubies” and the quiet realization that this is only one of many firsts still waiting. A simple moment, but full of wonder.