Right outside my door these days there are berries on an arbor, Marionberries and Boysenberries. Next to them are a row of Raspberries. All of them are ripe. Lucky me. I haven't seen any bears...
The Bears And I
The berry thicket
calls the brown bear, the black bear
and calls to me too
as the thunder claps
and the clouds climb to the edge
of the thick thick air.
Soon we will wonder
if the gully will flash with
muddy wet torrents
or will we still eat
ripe bright red stormy berries
without disturbance?
August 8, 2010 7:44 PM
Hello, Christopher ~ thanks for sharing your poem, "The Bears And I." It has a wonderful sense of place.
ReplyDeleteMy goodness. I had given you up to lurking or absence. I used to be just down the road in Gladstone. I feel I am a little further now, in Oregon City. That's where the berry arbor is. Boysenberries are just about my favorite berry in all the world, especially perhaps five of them all at once exploding in my mouth. Oh God. Just thinking about it makes my mouth squirt.
DeleteI am happy to have your comment.
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