Picking Blackberries
There is something about picking blackberries
that feels good.
Maybe it’s because no one planted them.
No one has been tending them.
Yet, here they are,
healthy and plentiful.
Maybe the slow, simple gathering
satisfies a place in the mind
that evolved millions of years ago
and has been neglected.
I look into the bowl.
The berries are so plump.
They look valuable.
The rain makes them glimmer.
As the bowl gets more full
the blackness and the weight
give me a sense of wealth.
I can hardly wait to show you.
I continue to pick
until the bowl is too full.
A couple of berries have rolled off
onto the ground.
I wish I had another bowl.
It is time to take them inside,
but the joy of picking is not over.
I get to show them to you.
I get to hear you say
how beautiful they are.
Dennis R. Rush is an artist, poet, father of six. Grew up on a tobacco farm in Kentucky. Graduated from the University of Nebraska at Omaha. Currently, the CIO at Mount Saint Mary College in Newburgh, New York. Lives in Staatsburg, New York.