Blackberries – Caleb Coy

Blackberries – Caleb Coy

This is the first of four poems that we will be sharing from Caleb. We hope you enjoy reading his words over the next few days just as we did during the editing process.


I turned blackberries from the stem

On down the brambled row,

Ripe and bulging,

Silver in the sun of evening.

Beetles had come to drink,

Sometimes four on a single berry.

You must blow them off

Or risk the smashing of all.

My fingers stained with soft

Labor, my bucket half full,

I wipe my brow at the end of the row

And carry my glean to the stand.

Later, I return with white raspberries,

My blackberries having been taken.

The farmer offers me his own picked bushel,

But it is not the same.

Caleb Coy is a freelance editor with a Masters in English from Virginia Tech. He lives in Christiansburg, VA with his wife and two sons. His work has appeared in The Common, Stonecoast Review, and Harpur Palate.

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