Blackberry-picking
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries ripened.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet.
I watched as my sisters picked through the bushes
The red ones looked sweet and that hunger
Sent us all out with jam-pots.
Wet grass bleached our shoes.
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs covered
the rest. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, but it was okay
because we were in Ireland.
Seamus Heaney, Edited by: Dom O’Regan
