Childhood Delights

A mouthful of raspberries at breakfast
brings back images of my grandma’s farm,
the old barn with its bramble of bushes
heavy with fruit, full ripe berries; my thorn-
scratched knees and red stained fingers, sticky sweet.

Memories of hot summer and half-full
buckets – one for the bucket, two for me –
fill my mind, remove me from early spring
snows; place me squarely in late July heat
swatting mosquitoes, avoiding bees.

Thoughts of melt-in-the-mouth ice cream – one bowl
vanilla – topped with the fresh-picked berries
linger in my mind throughout the morning.
I am hungry for childhood delights.