Wild Blueberries

The bobwhites call to me,

inviting me to share their bounty,

to the weed grown fence line

so far from the house,

where wild blueberries wait.

My tiny, greedy hands pluck and pluck.

The fruit bursts on my tongue

with a sweetness only your lips can rival.

A stray nail catches my skin and draws blood.

Grandmother bandages my wound

and with gently curled fingers

dries my tears,

the way I sweep the tear from your cheek now.

Why are you in my memory

of a woman you have never met?

Because all that I was

all that I am,

all that I will ever be

is yours.

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About Eric Kovach

Spiraling out of control~~~~~~o
This entry was posted in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Wild Blueberries

  1. Amazing. Rich, nostalgic, wistful, endearing. Perfect.

  2. potterfan97 says:

    “Because all that I was

    all that I am,

    all that I will ever be

    is yours.”

    This is beauty stripped bare of all accessories – the naked essence of love we so often miss in our search for infatuation. Truly, truly lovely.

  3. I really like the connection of the present to the past … “Why are you in my memory

    of a woman you have never met?” Beautiful poem.

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