Blackcurrants.(Poem)

 
BLACKCURRANTS 
 
   walking to the Farmers' market 
   was like dawdling two miles to school 
   when we were small 
   the sun singing lightly over the road and grass 
   our talk jumping from bikes to blue scabious 
   plucking rosehips and wild olives 
   a bull screams in a field you laugh when I run 
 
   we buy blackcurrant pie 
   filling blue and bleeding into pastry 
   triggering memories of hiding in 
   sharp-smelling leaves, a cross between 
   tomato and mint but dryer, crisp 
   suck skin and flesh off the seeds 
   mouths shivering at the sudden acid rush 
 
   we're safe here in the cubby 
   a tangle of elder, currants, and beech 
   knees drawn up to chests 
 ...