Under the Honeysuckle, blue as the skies
in hands of a mid-western girl
where strings of bright blueberries match her eyes
blue dyes every curl.
These ripe delicious blueberries on my block
where lies dead song bird
pale breasted with broken wing lying on rock
songs no longer heard.
A beautiful woman stands smiling at me
blueberries staining her tears
offers me her fresh picked fruit: I will see
tonight we could forget our fears.
© 2020 Jamie Lee Hamann