Lawrence Hall HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                            The God of Children and Blueberries

    For Theo (who is three today) and Nora (who is more than three)

                           “It is eaten, and renewed, every day.”

      -Ramandu’s daughter in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

God is prodigal with his seasons and feasts -
This is the season of blueberries, each day a feast
Great clouds of fat blue globes hang upon the little trees
Water and sky shading into Prussian blue

This is a table-tree, all are invited
To stand with buckets and thirsty lips
To pick and take, to take and eat, each day
The feast magically renewed each dawn

Mockingbirds, robins, sparrows, rabbits, and squirrels

And children

Picking, pecking, plucking, nibbling, biting

All at Aslan’s Table, and all at peace

She smells of strawberries,
ice cream on a
melting, runny day

She speaks of blueberries,
waffles in the morning -
hot and warm,
comfy -
snuggled, next to you

I smell strawberries so often;
I hear blueberries so soon,
and every time I do,
still - I think, I speak

of you

Molded blueberries,
I joked of scooping them up
and having a bite

Like standing on the peak of a mountain range during a lightning storm with my eyes closed,
I am sending myself as a beacon out to you.
With blueberry tinted fingers you touch my face, soft as the sunset mist, and leave bruise colored echoes across my skin,
I am running, skipping my body across the darkening soil like a stone, spinning my way past the orange fungi adorned trees after you,
Can’t you feel the swirling hurricane of desire in my chest when we press close,
the way my body settles like cooling lava around you when we intertwine,
I cannot help but to be shaped by you.

All around us the auroras waltz and curtsy,
the moss cloaked rocks pulsate with earth's breath,
the lightning strikes.
I open my eyes, and you are gone.

Never bein who I wanna.

See thru.
neck kiss.
car hood.
lost a thing.
Don't belong.
don't believe.
all wrong.
have to leave.
don't.
.
Stay.



Garrett Johnson.

On some mornings
mom would ask
if Kyle and I wanted waffles
these were no ordinary syrup catchers
marbled by deep purple
stuffed with blueberries

When I was born
I was born a blueberry
due to the blue pigmentation
resulting from lack of oxygen
because of my mother’s smaller stature
that day a screaming smurf was brought into the world
and I’ve been getting redder ever since

Above the sink in my dad’s home
is a small purple bowl
handmade with a ceramic stem that broke off years ago
on the inside bottom is an engraving
that simply reads
‘Blue Berries’
but no longer carries fruit