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ANOTHER PICKING SEASON
I climb high into the hills
where the bracken stands like
surly Sicilian brothers
guarding a sister's honor.
I come well armed
to fight my way past barriers
to reach those heavenly star-berries
clustered within their constellation.
Moisture and sun conspire
creating the most perfect ones,
then shielding them
in a mini-forest of thorns.
Desire makes me forget all caution,
makes me forget the pain of torn flesh
and the mingling of berry-blood-red.
My mouth is midnight blue,
my fingers stained.
After my hunger has been fed,
I ask myself if it's been worth it.
I should be satisfied
with berries sold at markets
in neat punnets
or in tarts or pies
eaten with sweetened cream.
But it's really about the prize,
about desire and the dream.
It may seem beyond reason,
but I'll go back another season
since there's nothing sweeter to me
than the hard-to get-at blackberry.
(From: Out Of Love And Other Poems, by Kitty Madeson (1993) Stone Soup Poets, Boston.)
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