Thursday, July 17, 2008
The Divine Vaccinium
The sweetest orb, and finest fruit
That ever sprang up from the root;
Wild of branch, on forest floors,
Among the ledges in taller hedges,
Or between rocks, low and clustered flocks.
Untamed by hand, but cultivated by God.
To climb the mount, stretch out the hand
And gather the bounty from the land.
Not just one, but by the handful.
Look around, there's a whole land full
Of them, covering the summit.
Warm from the sun and tight with juice,
Which squirts when pressed between the tooth.
Oh the blueberry! O the Joy!
A whole sky, a whole mountain, the whole earth,
All distilled to one small ball,
One indigo ornament.
Not one. A mouthful. A bucketful.
A belly full, with stained lips
And a tongue dyed with their glory.
Until you have gathered wild blueberries,
And shoveled them into your mouth,
So that they explode into your brain,
On a mountain
Your life is an empty, dry and flavorless proposition.