“Strawberry Moon”

It ruins white school shirts,

turns them into sunset maps,

splattered across the chest,

no detergent can argue back.

It ruins summer afternoons,

makes you sit on the stoep,

because the floor inside

is now a crime scene too.

It ruins manners at the table,

juice running down your wrist,

dripping from your elbow,

while your mom sighs, then smiles.

It ruins everything,

and somehow,

that’s how you know

it was worth it.