Monday, April 2, 2018

       Blueberry Burrens
                                                          by Ralph Fletcher

          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.