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.