I look at them dubiously in their cellophane
jacket in the produce section, their zipper
tantalizingly open to tempt passersby
like me with that tumble of dark rubies,
practically daring the shopper
to reach in and try one.

I never do, assuming that would be stealing,
but I am, indeed, tempted. So I heft a bag
onto the waiting scale to see how much
these first cherries might cost me,
having no idea if they’re still tart
or if hidden sweetness lies inside
each jewel.

I like to think that they’re always sweet,
that they’ve grown in a far-off, warm spot
and made it to the grocery store in perfect
condition, unlike the poor pale tomatoes,
which rarely look or taste like a garden-grown
version, the kind you have been known
to pluck right off the vine and bite into
like an apple.

It’s early for cherries—they really come
into their own in June here, later in the
Pacific Northwest and British Columbia—
one good reason of many to head
to Canada in summer. But, ever
hopeful, I decide to squander the $13
for these early morsels of bliss
for the tongue.

And, after paying, trundling them
and the other groceries to the car,
I reach in, risking the unwashed, to
destem a single ruby orb and pop
it into my mouth, smiling at the first
blessing of luscious, glistening
summer.