I remember
when I was
a child
my grandmother
would take
me to pick
strawberries with her
in the
fields

I recall the hot sun
grabbing ahold of my
tan skin with
her rugged hands
while I begged
her to loosen
her
feverish grip
as I pranced through
the field with my
battered plastic
bucket

and
as I put the strawberries in
my bucket
slowly it would fill up
only for them to
fall out
through a hole
as I
walked away
one
by
one

sometimes
I think
my heart
is like the rough
bucket,
filled with small pieces of
love and
affection for myself
and for others
gently placed within

but as I take
more and more
steps into this world
each tiny spec
of love and
hope
and trust
just falls out
one by
one

it keeps
me up at
night
sometimes ya know?

just wondering
how much
more will escape from
my heart
until my
bucket is
empty