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Strawberry Acai | Sara Thompson

I take a sip of bright pink, speckled with seeds,

it’s sweet taste prickling against my tongue,

and I am reminded of our freckled noses.

How they both drip in the cold,

How they both peel in the sun.

 

A sticky strawberry lodges itself into the straw,

a fresh red, like the blood of your knee

the time I pushed you off the swing.

Me, insisting you shake it off

Me, pleading to not tell mom.

 

A splash escapes my cup and my white jeans

blush as deeply as my cheeks the time you

expelled your breakfast all over my frilly skirt

You received whispered tones of sympathy

while I had sour eyes pinned to my lap.

 

My stomach grows uneasy

 

I am constrained to the toilet while

you are perched on the counter beside me.

The plastic cup, half-full, gleams in the sun

watching the chords of laughter play as we

discuss my wavering history of stomach sensitivity.

 

Tears of condensation fall down plastic sides,

welling up the longer I wait without a drink.

With each hair pull,

With every tease,

With all arguments.

 

Strawberry Acai brings temporary discomfort,

and it is my favorite drink.

 

Sara Thompson is a Canadian writer from the small town of Sarnia, Ontario. She is currently on finishing up her BA of Creative Writing and Publishing at Sheridan College and is assisting in starting up a book club/writer's workshop for LGBTQ+ members within her community. Sara has written a few editorials while interning for the Communications Department at her local hospital, though, her true passions are writing poetry about her life and creating fictional stories within various fantasy genres.

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