‘Blackberry Jam’ – GDST Poetry competition Winning Entry
Blackberry juice bruises our fingertips,
but is sweet when kissed off.
Honey-thick sunlight pours through the glass roof,
soaking my mother as she works.
She has my grandmother’s hands
(one day they’ll be mine too);
they deftly sort through our afternoon’s pickings,
swollen purple with August sunshine.
A berry, heavy and glistening under the golden light,
rolls from the kitchen table, past my bramble-torn ankles.
She stoops to pick it up, and as she rises,
the light hits the crown of her head so that, for a moment,
She is some heavenly angel with the halo to match.
I watch my mother
(now flesh and bone once more)
as she weighs out fruit and sugar in equal proportion,
and I tuck this moment into a corner of my chest,
next to a jar of last summer’s fruits.
