lately i been daydreaming
while i ought to be doing dishes.
i’ll catch myself, delicate double chin
in the callused cup of my hand
staring out the kitchen window
at my best blackberry brier
with longing lingering in my eyes.
it’s hanging full and heavy
but the fruit is far from ripe.
blood red berries against green grass.
blood red berries against the washed-out
siding of our second hand mobile home.
and i’m not even worried
‘bout the sun soaked sweetness
baked into a pie anyways.
i’m wondering how long it might take
to grow myself a good set of thorns.