by Ralph Fletcher
Monday, April 2, 2018
Buy a few pints of them
you feel as though
you’ve struck it rich.
Suddenly it’s blueberry everything:
pancakes, pies, tarts and cobblers;
a stampede of berries in your cereal
that stain your teeth dark blue.
They spout near the coast in low fields
that get burned off every other year;
they say ash sparks a sweeter crop.
You stand beside a row of bushes,
nothing special, an ordinary green
til light strikes at just the right angle
All at once tiny spheres appear,
an intense blue hue,
a field of sapphires
far as the eye can see.
Posted by Ralph Fletcher at 1:21 PM