MOTHER, MISCHIEVOUS ME
Outside my childhood house grew several masses of short holly shrubs.
Brightest red berries. I remember their distinctive allure, ogling the tiny berries every time I stepped out the door.
One day, I picked one of the berries and took a bite.
Don’t like that.
Spit it out.
Years, years, years later, in the same old childhood house,
I noticed the holly plants were missing.
"Where did they go?" I asked my mother.
“We were afraid you would try to eat them when you were younger
…so we had them removed.”