How to Do It
Lynn Levin

My heart was with the wild
raspberries because the blackberries
had fiercer thorns, less sugar,

and bigger skirts of poison ivy.
It was as if someone had left a window open.
My hair blew like curtains

as I stood before Mill Creek
where the raspberry canes looped like green garden hoses
or straw for an enormous basket.

Then I watched
a small snapping turtle swim beside his mother
until she submerged, as a mother will

when she seeks the cool depths.
I tossed raspberries into my mouth
as fast as I could pick them, thinking:

this must be how a bear lards up for winter
or how a pirate feels when he stuffs
beaded goblets into his sack.

Better than any pie these were,
but when I tasted spider web on one,
I knew I had been caught

in my greed. Moderation in all things,
sighed the wise. All the sweetness
you can seize, laughed the thief.