Picking Blackberries (A Poetry Writing Competition Entry)

A Poetry Writing Competition Entry

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1. Picking Blackberries

My mother sent me out to pick blackberries

for her pie. The sun skipped over pebbles as

my friend and I swung our baskets.

 

Watching the road for danger, we crossed

and picked the hedge for fruits. A stunted

oak tree bent its head to listen so

 

we climbed it and sat like small lords

among the gossip circles of blackbirds.

We were elves or outlaws, armed with

 

berries and childish confidence.

My mother called us in, smiling guiltily,

our hands and faces smudged with juice.

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