Navy juices bloom atop my fingerprint.
The ghosts of blackberries, small seeds bursting through their tender casements,
Trace invisible minutiae,
Wild drupelets rupturing with ripeness.
This is how we pick our fruits:
Sometimes sweetly stowed away, and sometimes stained.
I lick my fingertips; the purple shadow
Still remains.
About the Creator
Harbor Benassa
I carry a piece of the things that I love wherever I go. I love short fiction, chocolate ganache, forensic science, and, aptly, the water.
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More stories from Harbor Benassa and writers in Poets and other communities.
I Let My Cat Step on my Keyboard
Every time I open my computer, my cat, Computed Tomography (CT for short), never fails to step on the keyboard. This was especially helpful while I was finishing a challenging twenty page final paper for a master's level molecular biology course. This time around, I figured I'd let her step on my keyboard on purpose, just in case she had anything important to say.
By Harbor Benassa2 years ago in Poets
Comments (7)
really rich, descriptive language! I can taste the bursting feeling in my mouth!
Another fruit poem, this time dripping with reverie! Really enjoyed this. The idea that the stain left on your finger could be a blackberry's ghost will sit with me :) Awesome work!
Beautifully penned! They are delicious indeed but it signals here the ending of summer so kinda bittersweet.
amaze to read this one!!appreciated!
Lovely blackberries. They make the best jam but blimey do they stain your fingers.
Brings back sharp childhood memories for me!
Gorgeous!! This is beautifully done, Harbor! We’ve got blackberries ripening near the park we walk and this makes me want to go pick some!