I fear them furred
or slashed by little birds

blackberries shining glibly in the hedge
some hard and red

some almost dripping purple smears

I choose my berry carefully
to eat a tiny spider
scared to taste
what might escape the washings of the rain

           might be snarled behind a thorn

in the end it’s neither sweet nor bitter
just seedy water sacs

and oddly warm

Rose Segal
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