Friday Poetry: Mary Oliver's August

The blackberries have arrived and my children are permanently stained bluish-purple. I keep dreaming we'll get enough for pies, but we just keep eating them off the vine.

August

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue."
- Mary Oliver in White Pine: Poems and Prose Poems

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:: this post is part of the Friday Poetry roundup hosted by Kelly Fineman.