Lou showed me how,
I was her shadow,
what she did, I did
because she was Lou
and Lou knew how.

Now when I make jam,
I'm seven again
in a world ripe with berries,
luscious blues, purples and reds,
I don’t fear thorns
or bees that sting,
just give me sugar and wax
and I'm off on a chase
to find berries.

Berries hide under leaves,
grow deep inside branches,
higher up than my hands can reach,
ripe berries heavy on the vine
load down branches
and mix in the tall grass,
hidden jewels for the finding.

I pick berries to remember Lou,
fill my pail to overflowing,
wash off leaf bits and visiting ants
and recapture the sun of summer,
pour it into a jar or pie shell.
Lou may be gone
but now she’s a shadow
in the kitchen.  
 

This poem first appeared in Young Ravens Literary Review (May 31, 2016).
Used here with permission.