Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
It’s not even late August yet, but already we’ve been picking ripe blackberries for a couple of weeks. I think the long, hot summer has brought them forward. Hopefully, they will be plentiful as well as precocious, as we’re planning to try making some bramble whisky this year – purely for medicinal purposes, you understand.
This is actually my second-favourite poem about blackberries. My favourite will be along in a couple of weeks (she said mysteriously).