Memory
Cutting the stems from a quart
basket of strawberries - the first
this spring - looking forward to how
I would eat them tonight, when I was
alone, for a treat (Tess being away),
I remembered I forgot to pass along
a message to her when we talked:
somebody whose name I forget
called to say Susan Powell’s
grandmother had died, suddenly.
Went on working with the strawberries.
But remembered, too, driving back
from the store. A little girl
on roller skates being pulled along
the road by this big friendly-
looking dog. I waved to her.
She waved back. And called out
sharply to her dog, who kept
trying to nose around in the sweet ditch grass.
It’s nearly dark outside now.
Strawberries are chilling.
A little later on, when I eat them,
I’ll be reminded again - in no particular
order - of Tess, the little girl, a dog,
roller skates, memory, death, etc.
– Raymond Carver
