Fetching Mulberries by Barbara Foley

Fetching Mulberries

by
Barbara E. Foley

Fetching mulberries for Mom, I headed for the timber,
bucket in hand and stood beneath the treasure-tree.

The bucket hit the ground as I grabbed with both hands
for the plump purple morsels. Popping one after another
into my mouth, I savored the sweet juicy rush and felt
the sticky liquid leak out my mouth and run down my chin.

Finally satiated, I remembered the empty bucket.
Reaching ever so high for branches almost out of reach,
I filled it with the ripe, purple fruit, feeling an occasional
mulberry squish between my bare feet and the sandy soil.

The gentle summer breeze felt like a sweet caress.
Gazing dizzily through sun-soaked branches,
I searched for ripened berries.

Bucket brimming, I lazily wandered home with visions
of mulberry dumplings dancing in my head and telltale stains
all over my shirt and face, knowing Mom would understand.

That afternoon life was rich and full and so was I,
but I'd want more by suppertime.

Return to Poetry