Memoirs of a blueberry picker

They called the place the lookout sea,
Fountains of waves
A salt mist in blue sky aloft,
Clouds passing through Saturday mornings
Honey air, we walked a sandy path
With tin pails in hand;
Well water kept us cool as we picked
Bushel after bushel of plump blueberries.

Blue lips and fingers, a spider’s web,
A bee’s wing,
Dragonflies nipping and tucking, arising,
Noon sun casting our shadows;
Kindled my love for a season.
Gulls dragging their beaks in a tidal pool with water that
Had a brackish taste, the tang of a river sea;
Sandpipers scurrying through fen and thickets.

And so, together, with my sisters and brothers,
We gathered till the dusk came rising;
Pies and jams quenching our taste for a fruit.
We walked, and I still walk there,
Though the blueberry plants are barren save for
Fond memories; I oft hear joyful voices,
Hear tin pails clanging
Culling a harvest; our childhoods nourished.

Copyright © 02/23/18 lance sheridan®

Memoirs of a blueberry picker

6 comments on “Memoirs of a blueberry picker

  1. rabirius says:

    Interesting theme – and, again, a fantastic poem.

  2. Barbara says:

    Lance – this brings back beautiful memories of years ago – what a magnificent canvas you’ve painted here; anyone would love the outcome it brought to mind, a love that was caught up by the rays of sun snatching hold of your backs and hearts while picking berries – inspiring, comforting and loved!!!

  3. “Our childhood nourished.” Beautiful, Lance.

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