Monday, February 15, 2010


A recent poem, basically unedited. I grew up with a mulberry tree in my backyard.

a mulberry tree, trunk sawed to the root
brought to life by sun and rain:
this is what comes to mind
this and our feet, still small but robust -
stained crimson. And the lesson that
the green berry, the unripe and
tasteless embryo of life, was the only solvent;
to be plucked prematurely and
rubbed until your feet turned pink
and your hands ached, the crimson
magically disappearing into the
prickly green ball of life cut short.

image: so wabi sabi


Ben McLaughlin said...

cool poem, soph.

Wow, I did not know that about the green ones. This would have saved me a lot of getting in trouble for walking red inside..

I grew up with a tree too. So great, hey. The sheer quantity of berries was awesome. I remember getting some silkworms for pets, and they would live in and eat the mulberry leaves. They had a kinda funky smell that I can still call to mind, so many years later..

sophg said...

thanks ben - I can't believe you didn't know the secret stain remover! What a sad childhood you must've had...

I don't actually like the flavour of the berry at all. All the neighbours' kids used to come round to pick piles of them for making pies.

Yeah, silkworms... such a nasty smell. But fun and edumacational.