Marie Burdett
Blueberry Islands
I should have checked
the rain forecast.
In my neglect
I failed to see
the sky was flecked
with slaty shards.
Some ships have wrecked
for less than that.
I should have seen
the clouds turn dark,
the limpid green
seize up with black
like gasoline,
and heard the thunder's
tambourine
go rattling.
I should have known
the daggered shore
of jutting stone
would pin my boat
in the littoral zone.
I should have left
them well alone,
those shoreside bushes.
But they were bright
like serpent eyes.
Sweet bursts, each bite
contained a range
of tart delight.
The berries changed
to purpled night
at a finger's touch.
Greedy, I stole
green fruit, the leaf
off the petiole
to brim my bowl
with berries black
as lumps of coal.
The sky threw off
its eggshell blue
and seemed to hiss,
"I wouldn't do
that anymore
if I were you."
I plunged the oar
of my beached canoe
into the water.
Lightning burned
the shrubby shore.
My stomach churned.
The berry bowl
was overturned,
fruit squished like bugs.
I should have learned
my lesson then,
before the crack
of thunder launched
the wind’s attack,
before my lips
were berry-black.
I’m always wanting
what I lack
and go too far
to make it back.
Signs
I learned this from the Farmer's Almanac:
that if the woolly caterpillar's back
is less an ochre brown, and more a black
next winter would be bleak.
It's how the seisms of the seasons speak:
in spring, the cracking of the frozen creek,
the tuneful droplets from the thrush's beak
that summons summer rain.
By them, I've timed the planting of my grain
crop, dowsed for springs on desolate terrain
with the wily wiggle of my willow cane,
and learned the language of the sky.
My corn is always knee-high by July—
I sowed it when the oak leaves prophesy,
their buds the size of squirrel's ears. I lie
awake at night—if moonlight shines
too bright—and wonder if the old wives' signs
are true: if fairies whisper in the pines,
if full moons make you mad, if fate aligns
our lives. I can not know what's true,
only that by these signs, and others, too,
I knew I was in love with you.
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| Brittany Vogel is an award-winning, New Jersey-based painter known for her bold color and beautifully expressive line. Her Powerful Women series has struck a chord well beyond the gallery walls, earning inclusion in multiple exhibitions including a Monmouth Museum x Smithsonian Exhibition and coverage in numerous press outlets, including Yahoo! News and feature spreads in TapInto and 07030 Magazine.
Vogel's work lives in public spaces as much as private collections. She created a 12-foot interactive mural, Suffragists Marching, in the Columbus Circle subway station, and has delivered artist talks at the Bruce Museum and the Hoboken Historical Museum. Her achievements include the competitive Merit Scholarship from the Art Students League of New York and features in three consecutive Monmouth Museum Annual Juried Exhibitions. She has mounted solo shows of both her Powerful Women and Order vs. Chaos series in New York City and New Jersey.
Whether she's covering a subway wall or a canvas, Vogel's aim is the same: command attention from across the room, then reward a closer look with a rich, layered story worth lingering over.
Brittany continues to paint, exhibit, and expand the Powerful Women series from her studio in Hoboken, New Jersey, adding new women and new stories to the collection.
For additional information, please visit www.BrittanyVogelArt.com.
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