We were talking about stories never told and she confessed some early childhood game she used to play. As she had never told anyone, it took her a while and lots of encouragement to write it.

I had told her about my riverbanking story and she liked it. She said she’ll call it “Strawberry Fields” – I think more like the Beatles (cartoon) than capsunari.

Achtung: German inside, but so there is in the title of this blog :)

A past incident, just tell it.

I blame it on innocence.
But then,
blame invokes guilt,
and
am i guilty of anything?
Innocent,
a child, a girl – or socialized to be/feel/are one -,
guilty,
blame-shame?
Thinking about it,
Shame maybe,
I feel ashamed, or do I?
Isn’t that just the way we are supposed to experience our sexuality, explore our bodies, our
selves? Naturally?
Ripening strawberries-and I will come to that
Aneinander schmiegen, reiben, fühlen.
Riverbanking just comes, floats into my mind,
how i love that symbolism:
the banks on each side
embedding
the warmth
the wet
the fluid
unknown sensations
the arousal
your touch
your finger
I
Longing for
You
Your Tongue
The tickling
Your smell
feeling dizzy
The beer the excitement -still unknown-
The plane leaving so soon
Another story
Break.

So, reflecting on that past,
right,
writing it down
that’s the task you set me
I obey I try
-please you-
Strawberry Fields. Strawberries, no –just the One.
Two explorers on an expedition
And one strawberry the object of investigation.
Erdbeerpflücker – Spargelstecher
My brother and I
Close in age, 13 months apart only
I was 5 he 6 or so
or Maybe not, or older? or younger?
Well, young. Lichtjahre entfernt from knowing.
pure
We called it butcher game.
We would say: komm wir spielen Metzger
And we would be in our room
Having undressed, the game board right there
one of us lies down on the bed or floor
the other kneeling next to that small, not yet adolescent, naked body
little hands formed to axes
moving over, exploring the brother’s / the sister’s body with precision
chopping#off#pieces#hereandthere #
here the arm, there the leg, a bit of the butt.
Now, my turn!
Then the butcher game was adjusted
our terminology changed
somewhat less carnal
Not that we were vegetarians, nothing of that sort.
My girl vagina was just the sweetest strawberry we’d ever come across
And we were sure it looked like one.
The scientists we were!
Is the strawberry ripe? can we check,
my brother would ask.
Or I would suggest to go look for it
I remember sitting in the bathroom
On the floor
Legs spread apart
Head bend down
Flesh was fruit
Curiosity
Fingers investigating
Investigating that what looked so different from my brother’s
that what didn’t give me the pleasure back then
that what makes me the woman I am now

Did it – no: she/sie!- taste like strawberries?
I doubt it
Can’t remember if he touched her
Not important, doesn’t matter either
I did- still do
Others did too will do
Savor my juices
You too?
longing, desire
Confusion then and now.

The author has requested anonymity. Somehow, I got to think of Angelou’s Phenomenal Woman (link below).

Sources / More info: Adventures in Poetry