Early Morning Berries 

Its brambles snagged 
my winter scarf, scratched 
nail marks along the flank 
of my car. Etched tattoos 
on bare limbs of the unwary. It grew 
tangled and dark in the driveway 
that separated our houses; untamed, 
unrepentant. Hard black knots 

swelled in the spaces between thorns. 
We waited: Sparrows and starlings, 
blue jays, crows. Me with my cereal bowl, 
milk in a glass bottle. For two weeks 
I let the sharp sweetness implode 
on my blue tongue, stain careful 
fingers. I flew south 

searching for more exotic fruit, 
found papaya and banana, learned 
to eat fried plantains 
with red beans and rice. 
But the tang of blackberries 
lingered on my lips, teased me home.