Poem
A child was made to stand alone
on the outskirts of the market
stall, his father scolding him
into stillness. I asked him
if he’d like a strawberry;
I brought him the biggest one
I could find. “Oh thank you,”
he said. “Strawberries are my
favorite food.” “What other foods
are your favorites?” I asked
jauntily; I love to talk favorites
with children. He shook his head.
“No other foods, “ he said.
“Strawberries are my only
favorite.” I nodded. He stood
reddening his face with strawberry
with me crouched to his level.
Soon his mother took his hand
to exit. “Thank you so much
for the strawberry,” he said.
I too have only one favorite.
(illustration via “color my life with the chaos of trouble“)
panache, perhaps 