rowing our boats

sunday morning,
my sister and I
sit on the bedroom floor
and row

we miss summer camp
but it is
only October

our room is cold
but still
we put on our bathing suits

we use wooden rulers for oars
and sing “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore”

my sister asks me to braid her hair
and I do
even though it is pixie-short

she asks if we will have
roasted marshmallows
at the cookout that night

i assure her we will

everything is possible
before our parents wake up

two young girls
rowing our boats
on the lake of dreams

 

Note: This is a revised version of a piece written many years ago

blueberry picking at high noon

the radio said expect a breeze
but there isn't one
and only my baseball cap
for a slice of shade

i'm wearing a pale gray silk blouse
so silly
but at least it is lightweight

i pick from one bush and then another
not wanting any one spot
to grow too bare
always moving
slow
but moving

bees buzz nearby
dragonflies mate
then whizz away

it's important to be careful
and not separate families

these 3 berries look like sisters
i pick them all
so no one feels rejected
or lonely

here: a mom, a pop, 6 little babies —
plop, plop, plop, plop, plop, plop, plop, plop
into the bucket they go

filling it up to the brim
taking time
there is lots of time to take

and on the table
next to the cash box
a pitcher of lemonade
cold and sweet
and only 50 cents

on the way home
eating berries
my fingers don’t turn blue 
my tongue doesn't turn blue
not even my teeth turn blue

a perfect afternoon

and there were no bears 










 Note: this is a revised version of a piece written many years ago