blackberry sonnet

my grandmother's driveway is dotted with

wild blackberry bushes whose berries

are fresh and ripen in the summer, explode

in bright flashes of color on your tongue

vines dancing twisting inspiring a young

boy who's never seen fruit grow wild

made to be picked in grandmother’s wicker

baskets, afternoon lemonades with ice

or cobblers served with vanilla ice cream

come from deep red turned ruby black atop

a bed of jagged leaves, each one's veins

a pattern dancing but still familiar

the thorns snag on his coat or his bare legs.

the blood is just as bright as the flavor

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eva ridenhour (ig: @evaridenhour)

Header by Nick Sarro @nicksarr1