Teaching and Learning
A poem for my dad’s 80th birthday, shared here in remembrance of him
When I was a little girl you took me to forage.
Embraced within the long pulse
of warm summer morning,
we went together, carrying empty coffee cans,
strung like pails, to the brambles.
You showed me how to choose and pick,
encircling each ripe berry with your fingers,
gently coaxing it to fall into your hand,
rolling it into the can with a quiet plink.
You picked another, tossed it into your mouth
and made that “surprised-dad” look,
brows up, eyes wide, mouth drawn and pursed,
I followed with a giggle,
tasted the goodness.
Thorns bit into my skin and pricked my fingers
if I moved too quickly, so I learned
to be purposeful and reach with care.
You found the three, lobed leaves of poison ivy,
warned me with tales of itchy blisters.
We suffered a few bites and stings
out of the living air, and each precious,
sweet little raspberry was worth it,
bursting with flavor,
gift of the Earth.
