The end of summer
and we pick blue
berries, pluck them
with delicate precision
open ourselves to the goodness
of the world
that is theirs
drop the offering
onto our ready tongues
and drift into heavy clouds
bringing us to remember
Friends who move
marry
make pies and jam
they ate as children for their own children,
holding to the sweetness
they once loved.
And divorced
that's them too
when fingers cramp, stop,
mouths close in denial,
and the heart's want
is replaced by the sickly feeling
of having too much
too little.
But here kneeling in the ruins
of stumps as far as the eye can see,
we take these berries,
blue as the new life they are,
in gratitude
humility,
yet lustful for the taking.
The dusty logging road at our backs,
we stand, stretch to leave
at day's end
and laugh in our full desire
all the way home.
About this Poem
Originally published in the 2001 collection At Geronimo's Grave, which is out of print but which may be requested through InterLibrary Loan. Find more works by Armand Garnet Ruffo in the catalogue.