. . . and nothing, nothing but blackberries

        Sylvia Plath, "Blackberrying"




For Sylvia

Picking the last wild blackberries

And the  trembling drops of rain 

On the tip of each thorn, juice

Staining the whorls of my fingers,

 

Leaving a last time the one berry

That I have been saving all fall,

Black so deep it is really purple,

Swollen as a hammered thumb,

 

And with my own I pinch away

The brambles and thorns around it,

The sparrow saying its one word

Of hunger in the wet white pine.

 





Poetry by countryfog
Read 438 times
Written on 2011-11-22 at 18:00

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text



Your skill seems to strengthen with every new poem. I love poems on simple subjects such as picking berries. I've always felt that Plath's genius was never fully appreciated because of the drama of her own life. Her poem 'Daddy' shocks and thrills undergrads all over the world and a poem she wrote about red poppies astonishes me every time I read it. A well-put-together homage to a great poet, taken from us way too soon.
2011-11-24


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
If there can be such a thing as a high-definition poem, you have written one. "For Sylvia" is intensely descriptive, and I greatly enjoyed it.

"Swollen as a hammered thumb" Outstanding!
2011-11-24


shells
I "see" your words and the blackberries of my childhood, thank you.
2011-11-23