Since you asked, I’ll tell you why
Blueberries remind me of Sophia Loren.
It’s because I was young once — in Maine
In summer — and worked a Tabbutt rake
Through sequins of low bush dew until
The sun made me think of a dark-haired girl
In a white apron with a baby crooked in one arm
Her free hand sweeping damp hair
From her forehead — and I wanted to nurture.
That summer I filled many bushels and collected my pay.
And something fell to earth and something blew away.
© 2008 Jeffrey Roberts