Sunday, July 6, 2014

Black Raspberries: A Poem

Leah Delight Schade
July 6, 2014
I’m sorry I did not answer the phone when you called.
I was picking black raspberries
along the hedgerow.
Little clusters of
peeked out
from behind jagged green leaves
and thorns that stung like tiny bees
and scratched my skin
like mischievous kitten claws.
A small pain to pay for
of juice in my mouth.

I’m sorry I did not answer the phone.
As I picked the berries,
a moth displayed his splayed Designer wings,
pointing the way to another cluster of berries
just over the rise.
Fingers marked with the color of the sunset

gingerly reaching
the handfuls into my jacket pocket
that looked like I had bled into the fabric.
Sharing is worth the stains.

I’m sorry I did not answer.
The fireflies silently blinked their light-chorus,
a symphony of soundless phosphorescence.
The Conductor unseen.
My eyes had to listen.

I am not sorry.  I did not answer you.

I answered another Call. 


  1. Beautiful poem, lovely pictures.
    Been there a few times and agree. The pricks and pains are worth it for that fresh sweet burst of goodness.


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