Poetry selection from the 2010 issue
In the Garden with Father
Rachel de Baere
We ate strawberries,
young, floral, right from the vine.
Seeds embedded in the pink gums
between my teeth.
I savored this perfume of sweet rose.
Father knew this,
offered me more.
He lifted his glass of champagne,
raised it higher, as if to God,
as if thanking Him for the bounty of sunshine,
the sweetness of fruit,
and me – his fourteen year old daughter.
He cupped his lips, brought the glass to his mouth,
and swilled the champagne, gold as summer.
Strawberries from earth—red, like blood
to their center,
pleasant, juicy in my mouth,
I swallowed them,
smiled. Father
leaned closer,
his lips, trembling.
Amoskeag 