September 2015

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.