Berry Picking

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Rain’s been heavy lately, the farmhand drawls. 

We slosh through mud in wellies

Under the crooked apple trees,

Their arms outstretched in snarls,

To find the strawberries we’re picking today

Into our five-pint baskets

We’ll have emptied halfway home

And stained our Toyota pink. 

I could be here alone, maybe, or anywhere else

Where I wouldn’t have to smile and pretend to love

All this “togetherness” my mother’s been forcing

Down our throats since dad left.   

She says we’re trying to be a family

And families pick fruit

And laugh together. 

She laughs and says how much fun

It is to get dirty, here where the trees

Will be apple-ridden soon.  

But no one mentions that we could have spent our time,

Saying empty goodbyes,

And leaving to pursue our separate lives. 

My mother sinks her teeth into the seeded flesh

And grins, her teeth covered in the pink blood

She adores so much.  See?  She says,

Wasn’t that lovely?