Blackberry Bush (Bitch, Bye)

Should I apologize for
thorny vines? Even though
I saw the hungry gleam in your eyes

as you lifted the cotton
belly of your shirt
into a makeshift basket.
And mouth watering,
purple finger tips twitching
to pick my berries
through the brambles.

You stole a treat, blue lips
couldn’t handle the heat
in my late July bloom.
You retreated too soon and
let the drupelets of my fruit
turn black in the sun.

But lover, you were never
My intended. You
Intruded.

Even the scorching sun
can claim entitlement to me,
can call it tax for feeding my leaves.

I am for the wild things.

My white blossoms are nectar
to my sacred bees and
I am honored to
feed the small shivering beings.

You are for the wasteland.

You feed none but
meat to harvest.
You’re a pest, and
Niether my berries nor my thorns,
nor my bees or trembling forms
will waste breath to mourn
your inevitable, pointless death.

But in the morning, we will
celebrate and bask in the
light of the sun,
we will rejoice in the
quiet of your absence.

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3 thoughts on “Blackberry Bush (Bitch, Bye)

  1. Another one! WTF. You have the tight cloth of nature, nurture, sex, and disappointment totally down. Hard won no doubt. But what the hell do I know? Not much. I can only react to what I am reading and with you there is the sound of greatness. You need to send your stuff off to poetry mags. You need to start spreading the word beyond Tin Hats. I would say you are obligated, since, you know, you were born and placed upon the earth. It is something that you wear like a birthmark. It is the weather vane attached to the top of your head.
    Good luck with that. Thanks. Duke

    Liked by 1 person

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