Blueberry Girl

Peeling back the skin with my teeth,
this one then the next,
exposing the soft white belly of the fruit.
Painting my lips
and fingertips
purple
I cannot resist
the tiny burst of tart and sweet.
Just another handful more, before
I make myself sick.

I pick another to place in my bucket
then two more for me, now
the morning July sun is starting to simmer
but this row has so many berries to pick
and each one wants to go home with me.
I leave a few
for the birds
who would argue with me
with their cries.
My berries, mine.
Perhaps they are.

I still have room in my bucket,
in my stomach,
for just one more
until they are gone
‘til next summer.

© Michele Markley 2008