Page 7 - Contrast1980v23n2
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Blackberries
We will pick black berries in the morning,
Talk together by the mossy side of an oak,
Violet fingers in purple palms.
The noon breeze will taste like honeysuckle.
We will sit by the creek, shoeless,
Watch the sun spin from spruce to fern.
Flies will vibrate the afternoon air,
Settle on our purple bottomed basket.
We will sing and run over dusty footpaths,
Yell into the retreating sun
As we stumble home
Swinging sunburned legs and thorn scratched arms
I will bake a pie in the water color evening.
We will name constellations
In the cricket infested night
While dew drips form unseen leaves
And dark juice stains our tongues.
Outside, snow numbs the streets
Ice claws our window grids.
We will pick black berries in the morning.
Romona Ponce
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