Raspberry Picking at Old Frog Pond
by Heather Corbally Bryant
Already the smell of Concord grapes punctuates
The night air—the mornings are cooler now, and chill—
Grass still green again now after summer’s burn—
Darkness comes more quickly, without hesitation.
We walk along a ridge and through an abandoned quarry
Past layers of ferns and darkened mosses.
The water reflects black from marble gathered
From underneath—beneath now stilled currents
Where the river used to flow. Afterwards, we follow
Signs to yet another pond where rows of raspberries
Grow side to side, reddening in the late August sun,
Almost full, dodging in between the buzzing bees
Busy pollinating for the next season while we pluck
Small jewels, plunking them in our baskets.
I am loath to relinquish this time, to return
To the routine of school, to realize that, as I watch,
My children are slipping through my fingers.
Heather Corbally Bryant teaches in the Writing Progam at Wellesley College. She is the author of a non-fiction study, “How Will the Heart Endure: Elizabeth Bowen and the Landscape of War,” a novel, “Through Your Hands,” and several poetry collections. Her poetry chapbook, “Compass Rose,” is forthcoming from the Finishing Line Press in February 2016.