sitting, legs splayed, the spongy muskeg holding me close
chubby little fingers
dipping into his ice cream bucket
fistfuls of blueberries finding their way
into my belly
picked carefully by large hands
weathered and worn, a lifetime of working
nips and scars
a battle with a bear, the blade of a power saw
and the hawks fly overhead
pine tree needles prick my tears
and i miss it all, washed down the river flow of time
and so i carefully plant
remembrance
into the soil of my garden
knowing it will never be the same
but that it will be a sweet taste in my belly’s thought.