Poem of the Week: Brambles


The blackberry canes spring up
between pebbles and sand along
the gravel road leading to Parker Pond.

Notice how small the berries are
this year. There must have been a shortage
of rain in spring. July’s been an oven.

I worry about my wife, more bossy
and anxious under her hair coloring.
We snap at each other like turtles.

Kicking stones, I come to a weathered
glacial boulder shaded by a stand of white pine.
I must fall in love with my wife again.

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