Picking Berries Poem by Real St. Pierre

My eyes popped
wide open over
acres of blueberries;
this sea of emerald bushes, springing up
from the scented earth; everywhere
green, lush rows of branches
drooping
with heavy clusters of tender berries
sunning themselves this afternoon
inviting my poised fingers
to strip off gobs
of blue perfect pearls who
offer their taste
in sweet pies or better yet,
when I squish a single berry
between my teeth
releasing a stream
of purple treasure down
to my belly.