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.
tenderly plucks and cradles each one in her dainty hand and
places the overflow in the tiny folds of mine.
don’t hold them too tight
the juice— stains
if only I had never washed my hands. at least
we’d have that.
Image Credit: Collage of mulberry branches [wallpaperflare.com] and the abstract pregnant woman [nicepng.com]