Blueberries – a poem by Carole Greenfield


This morning I ate blueberries, tart and sweet
slight grit, soft explosions in my mouth.

I thought of my nephew, recently introduced
to the pleasures of eating, now able to feed himself in fistfuls

with those long fingers he folded beneath his chin 
the day he was born; I saw the Buddha in his hands.

He seems to hold the secret of contentment in the world 
he inhabits; almost everything is cause for smiling,

is reason to reach, point, look, explore with face 
and mouth and skin.

When he eats blueberries, it is enough to fill his sweet body 
with such satisfaction his whole being radiates delight.

He stretches a finger in my direction and I bend closer 
to receive his benediction, the blessing of his sticky touch.

Carole Greenfield grew up in Colombia and lives in Massachusetts.  Her work has appeared in Red Dancefloor, Gulfstream, Women’s Words, Beltway Quarterly Review, and is forthcoming in Eunoia Review and Dodging the Rain.

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