Blackberry Patch

Here is a new poem I just whipped up after picking blackberries in Malvern, Arkansas yesterday.

Picking Blackberries

We are few
mother, father and child
with splotches of purple on our hands
working to pick out what is ripe
from a harvest stinging with the sun

Waves of heat
not from movement but stillness
follow the sweat
our heads send our toes

The finding of precious jewels
amidst the beaten earth
brings our bodies alive
and whispers in a wave
with cooling breath
"You are searchers.
Find me what is sweetest."

As our trail of tastes pushes us into
the mysteries of the blackberry patch.

"So let's not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don't give up."
Galatians 6:9