Here's one of the poems I wrote last month during National Poetry Month. It's part of a series I'm working on, a memoir told through plants. This prose poem combines a happy childhood memory with an adult's perspective on the oblivious selfishness we all have as children and must overcome to grow up as considerate people who will take care of our world and respect each other. The title is the scientific name for wild blueberries.
Vaccinium angustifolium
I was sent to summer camp. We made things: bracelets, a tipi. We swam and sang. Every Saturday, a yellow bus took us with our brown bag PB&Js to the foot of a mountain. Climbing separated customary clusters of friends. I saw strange trees. My feet learned about rocks. At the top, all that wind and more sunshine than we knew what to do with. Handfuls of tart little blueberries proffered themselves from short bushes with tiny leaves. Was everything in the world designed to care for us? We left our orange peels on the rocks.
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