Blackberries

In the delivery room.    I
land on the smell of my mother
embraced by strangers

she only woke from her dead emotions
for me     in june

when we searched for ripe blackberries.     she
glowed at the site of the blackish fruit.   she
awed at the perfectly shaped bush.  she
kneeled as nature’s breath helped drop her blessing.

she
tenderly plucks and cradles each one in her dainty hand and
places the overflow in the tiny folds of mine.

be careful
she said.
don’t hold them too tight
she said.

the juice—                                                                       stains

if only I had never washed my hands.   at least

at least

we’d have that.

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Image Credit: Collage of mulberry branches [wallpaperflare.com] and the abstract pregnant woman [nicepng.com]