Full text version of the poem:
Back in the early 1990s my grandparents would
spoil me with deep-red strawberries, sweet and cold
with sugar on top and cream on the side served
in a vintage swirl bowl made of green glass. It is
one of the best childhood memories I have.
My hands found the bowl when we cleared the
silent apartment; they’d moved into these rooms
some sixty years ago and I reckon the bowl must
have been part of their household since their
sunny wedding on Pentecost, June 1952.
I take the bowl home with me. Apart from an old
photograph of my grandfather in black and white
it is the only thing I have to keep him alive. Light-
years away I trace the apple green of the glass, I smile
when thinking of that kitchen table and their hands.
One weeknight I am tired and lazy.
I run the bowl through the dishwasher and it breaks.
– “Strawberry Bowl” | (c) Anabel Hafstad | 2017 Oslo