Armand Garnet Ruffo

Blueberries

The end of summer

and we pick blue

berries, pluck them

with delicate precision,

open ourselves to the goodness
that is theirs

drop the offering

onto our ready tongue

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