Jo Heather Briggs
How to Eat Raspberries
My father taught me about raspberries, how
to pick them, to brave the gloom of green,
where leaves slip rain down your back,
clay sucks at sandalled toes
and your hair is caught and hurting.
‘You’ll find what others have missed’, he said,
‘the deepest are sweetest of all.’
My lover taught me about raspberries, how
to eat them, a punnet in each china bowl,
shake on sweet dust, pour cream
to soften and shroud them
wild and bloody, white and gold.
‘Don’t be half-hearted. How long,’ he asked,
‘does summer last?’ Not long. I know.
Page(s) 34
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