Monday, September 20, 2010

The Berry Picker

I wish I could eat the berries you left
in the bowl, on the table

your hands were stained almost blood red
and your brow was stung with sweat

You came home to find me sprawled
on the floor, covered in every blanket in the house

"I was cold" I said, my eyes alight,
I noticed how strangely you looked like a ghost

You placed the dish of little red fruits
down, before rubbing the juice on your pants

You kneeled down beside me and touched my wrist
with a smile growing like olive branches

We laughed, and the dog barked, and we swear we heard
the sea rolling and tumbling outside our door

Wrapped together, with only the light of candles
We were warm, despite harsh winter

The room smells of fresh berries and cinnamon,
or tinder and even of lavender

A dog at our feet, and our work complete
We lulled on the floorboards of our hearts.

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