The berries of a time
ago
bleed into memory
as onto my tongue and
onto my hands then.
The yellow-jackets:
They hovered then
a moment—then
whisked to the other
side
of my head until
I wished them away--
like the thoughts of
my days today.
Where do thoughts go
for
someone who does not
hold them still? They
arise as a
taste or a hue again—
as an aroma
that elicits warmth
or pain.
Remembered bright
days of childhood accompany
visions that sear and
splash
the rows of berries
in a refrigerated
market and strings of beans
haphazardly bulked in
piles,
not harvested by
children whose
sun-heated
thoughts transcend to
what might
be grown
on another day
far-flung from the
circles of
their imaginations—
circles which do not
close
as they are pricked
by years of
circumventing
to regain the
serenity
and yearning of a
child.
Nov. 18, 2009
this is lovely :) It brings back memories of picking blackberries when I was young.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Dee! And thank you for following!
ReplyDeleteWe had blackberry vines between our house and vegetable garden when I was growing up. Next to pear trees, they drew many yellow-jackets, but that did not deter me from picking either fruit. I've not found any blackberries as good as those since.
ReplyDelete