Blackberry Vines
Quarantine Poem #12
They say that in these times
to soothe the fragility of our egos
we should “control what we can”
so on the days the anxiety pokes
at the inside of my skin
I tackle the blackberry bushes
with gloves, garden clippers and
a sun-cracked shovel
I pierce the ground,
throwing my intention
behind the assault,
the shovel slices through the
roots and I bring up the severed
ball of trailing vines in a
half-hearted victory
thorns have scratched ley lines
across my flesh, burrowed into the
tips of my fingers and there are
tunnels of roots far beneath my reach,
I have won control in the moment,
but the blackberries will rise from
the ground again and despite
these battles, I will
enjoy the fruits of their vines
once mid-summer comes
Anne Fricke is a poet, author, storyteller, podcast host, wife, and mother. She lives in far Northern California, writes daily, and travels when she can. She has published two collections of poetry, a novel, a journal for parents of children with special needs, and was co-editor of a poetry collection on the theme of shelter-in-place. More about her work can be found at annefricke.com.
