Dawnell Harrison
Page 3

The purple blood of blackberries

Our hands were
Soaked in the

Purple blood
Of the blackberries

We picked yesterday.
Their taste so sweet,

So true, their juices
Bursting in our

Wanting mouths.
My hands are riddled

With small cuts
From the prickly

Stems of the blackberries
That hung as if wanting

To be picked, as if
Crying out before they
Fell softly to the ground.