Like truth out of living
I salvage blueberries, one by one,
From the tangled mat of the meadow.
Small as they are,
The grasses fight for them,
Vetch maneuvers in camouflage,
And wild rose claws at my wrists.
Birds spy from the hedgerow
And sing indifferent melodies
Hoping to lure me away
From their succulent repast.
Why this surprising demand?
Blueberries are wealth:
They are something of sun
And something of soil;
They are sky and wildness;
Beauty and wine,
Winnowed from weedy worthlessness,
Blueberries glow in my palm
As welcome … as hope.
By Charles A. Waugaman, all rights reserved.
This poem appeared first in Jean’s Journal Anthology, These Are My Jewels, 1974. Also in Fruit by the Sea, 1976 by Charles A. Waugaman; First Edition, The Partridge Press.
In 2007, this poem was published in Welcoming Hope: Poems for those in need (Elin Grace Publishing). Lora Homan Zill and Ellen G. Olinger, Co-Editors. Charles A. Waugaman, Art Editor and Illustrator. If you wish more information, please visit the books page at TIME OF SINGING.
Post updated on August 15, 2015