Blackberries

Another summer, another season for blackberries

ripe, juicy, thorny, 

purple bird food plump on the vine, begging

to be plucked and planted into another

Blackberry pie,

lip-smacking prize.

We drive together down the coiling switchbacks

zig-zagging the hairpins and corkscrews 

rocks tumbling down at us from circling canyon walls.

You want to know why the nets.

"They are to save us," I say, "from loose rocks falling.

That makes sense to you and you nod, feeling safe.

Never mind this snaking artery, I think to myself,

as we creep deep into the lowness of Oak Creek Canyon

all for the sake of our blackberries.

We laugh and I tell you funny stories as we inch along.

Better to sweet-talk than to show fright. I pull over twice to

let the line of cars go by, drivers annoyed at my slowness

rocketing past. "It's okay to take our time," I tell you 

and your face bobbles up and down.

Gladly, we greet the deepness of the gorge that hides behind the

Trout farm, a bumpy dirt road steering the way

to the age-old spring house boasting of 

an ice-cold wellspring spilling up from packed earth.

Heated, we bend ourselves and slip through the low doorway 

crouching to splash nippy spring water in that cool dark pace.

Overgrown paths lead away from our wet sanctuary.

At once, it is all about the blackberries.

No need to be scared

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

This fine description sounds far more interesting than my long ago family treks to pick blackberries. One thing is the same--danger. We had to be on the watch for copperheads, and you had a dangerous drive. Oh, but blackberry cobbler is divine!

[John Jackson (El Juero)]

I love it. You reminded me of home. I long to go there, before the fruit falls off...