Blackberry Missive – a poem

July in Virginia

our father skips lunch

to stride the dry pasture

in work brogues

to that thicket

where blackberries

sprout like purple

polkadots and

wades into the briars

and bees until

sweated out

with knuckles

and forearms bleeding

he’s filled two gallon

buckets.  Why? 

Because we love cobbler.

One of the things

the war took out of Daddy

you’d have to guess

was trust in saying much.

So what if he never

told me that thing,

I mean, what’s the worth

in words when you

can taste it like that?

2 thoughts on “Blackberry Missive – a poem

  1. That is beautiful, Tony! I got a copy of Last Rites and will finally get to read it next week during my vacation. (No reading for pleasure when you’re in grad school.) Looking forward to it!


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