Red of Life Green of Goodness

Tomatoes

Fried green with deep red ribbons of pepper atop a porcelain layer of mozzarella, panzenella salad, greens, yellows and reds, dotting the plate like balloons against clouds in the sky, pulsating with freshness and life

I like to bite into them, almost too big to fit into my mouth whole, the innards spurting between my teeth with a few tiny seeds escaping between pursed lips.

Because that is the best way to eat them.

The terrestrial scent of the fruit plucked off the vine in my grandparent’s garden.

I am three and barefoot with a borrowed undershirt from my grandfather. Soft compost between my toes is tepid from the noon sun and I dig my little toes into the dirt as I hold a large, lopsided tomato between two palms and bite into its supple skin. The juice is warm on my chin.

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Maybe, when I have a child of my own…maybe we will go to the farmers market and buy fresh tomatoes or peaches, wash them off in the nearest public restroom and have a picnic in the car, letting the juice drip all over our jeans and upholstery. I will tell them it’s the best that way and sun will glisten on our wet fingers, the juice collecting between the spaces on our hands. And I will tell my child it is perfectly acceptable to lick off what has escaped from the ripe fruit.