Carl Newlen

The Taste Of Wild Berries

- July 10, 2009, 3:08 pm | Poetry

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Yellow creek
rises and falls
with the Ohio.
Along this edge
the path stays muddy
from creek water.
It makes the berries fat.
You will go home scratched
from reaching, your fingers
stained a tough red.

Red ones are bitter
and will twist your tongue.
Hold the purple berries
in your palm, their skins
shiny and tight.
Taste them lying down
on a blanket in summer
when the wind is sweet.
They will feel smooth
in your mouth, they will taste
like fifth grade recess,
your first kiss,
the sky.

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