david’s poetry

Click on a photo to read the corresponding poem. All rights reserved. Poems may be shared freely, as long as you include the full name “David J. Weaver” with them. Feedback is welcomed! Send your thoughts or comments to weweavers@gmail.com.

By David J. Weaver

Each berry is picked 
by her thumb and finger
As softly as a mother cat 
lifting its cub with its mouth,
stronger than a kiss
softer than a bite.
Each berry, one-by-one-by-one
is added to the growing heap
in the bucket on her arm,
where each has a story
of being wanted and chosen
and picked with
tender care.
In her lap, as every stray stem 
is deftly culled,
she looks over her treasure again,
each a gem 
to be washed and pampered
and preserved
with a dowry of sugar 
like a wedding day bride photograph,
all fussing attention 
and glowing face
and busy hands
over a hot stove,
one stray strand 
of her hair floating free,
like a comma that doesn’t know its place.
A thousand kisses
converge at last,
captured in a jar,
sealed with a lid.
Love is now portable,
a mother’s touch with a shelf-life,
so tangible as to be tasted.
A spoonful
of nurture on toast,
and every good boy does fine,
so long as every good toast needs jam.