If moonlight had an aroma,
it would be the scent of blackberries---
night-black fruit dotted with crunchy seeds.
Mid-August, Frank calls and announces
berries will be plentiful, ready next week.

They produce best in the clearing
where the sun blesses the brambles
with inky fruit. Thorns discourage all but
the heartiest pickers.  Prickly canes catch
my sleeves.  I see droplets of blood.

As you pick, so shall you eat.
Sweet crunchy seeds fill crevices in my teeth.
It’s slow going.  The more I eat,
the less in the pail, the longer it takes
to fill a container worthy of jam making.        

Crushed, sugared, most seeds are still there,
surrounded by this joyous juice.
The aroma explodes in the bubbling pot.
Grapes and vanilla come to mind,
with the gentleness of Beaujolais.                                                                                       

                                    Loraine Brink