Blackberry Picking

She moves with absolute assurance
Her fingers sticky and red
As if she were committing a murderous act
The bag she swings casually is streaked
Bloody and heavy with juice
And her mouth drips scarlet with
The odd purple bauble she has
Popped into her mouth

The lane is long and quiet and
Baths itself nonchalantly in
Dust and Sunshine
And we walk it together
Her indefatigable and me
Trailing, tired but fascinated

“When will you stop Mummy?”
“When I have a pie-full my darling
Then I’ll show you how to bake pastry”
A treat after an afternoon’s
Docile servitude

The tasting was all
The pie oozed red like an open vein
And the fruit slapped at my
Taste buds while the warm
Crust turned my mouth into another oven.

I still walk the lane, older, alone
The only interruption
My daughter ringing me
On her mobile phone