Ripe
We started our day
slipped into
our silken summer wear
stepping out
into softness
sunshine
sky solely blue
reaching through
green overgrown
raspberries
ripe and reddening all around
your stick long legs
leaving your shimmering red shorts
my finger freeing
raspberries
into your red cup
ripe
one two and for me
one for you three
one for you three
our hands hovering
between our bounty
each palm rich
with red raspberries
cuddled close
and grinning
relishing raspberries
ripe
Breeze on my Belly
small green seeds swinging between
still green leaves
tight bitter berries just right for birds
right now robins
with scruffy breasts – not yet reddened –
relishing the ripeness of the branches
the old tree taking its roots along the river bank
rough and cranky branches bent by
the will and whim of the sun
and through it all
an unfathomable blue
unfolding
on this afternoon
breeze on my belly
sun on my skin
breeze on my belly
sun on my skin
Blueberries on a Maine Mountaintop
ripe berries
in a straw hat
gathered with a reverence
of the discovery of first ripening
coming to fresh air
from a humid trail
plucking sweet, tight morsels
every couple steps
at some moment my grip – slips
from my makeshift basket
spilling the bounty
down the smooth granite
of the Maine mountainside –
rolling out of my reach
bruised, scattered berries
my poise tripped
your hands impatient
collecting what you can – for me
a portion of fruit
lost in the moss and grit
between granite slabs
you pluck a few
from plants close by
to fill what is missing
and I know that two people
can choose anything
even the clumsiness
even the fuss of imperfection
and I am not content with the conclusion
- you could not help me -
satisfied that the results
justified the means
I left with a hat of less
carefully collected
deep, blue berries
that I ate slowly
lonely for you
to love them with me
because I saw
the raw man
jaw softening
the deep red rotting logs
still, black water
fire burning
I was the tender woman in awe
of the complexity,
the glistening
I saw in your eyes
when they were not
looking at me
I could have kept walking
through the short, glossy shrubs
unconcerned with the blueberries
but how each moment
makes up everything -
and what is not cherished immediately
perishes – eventually