Turning our bicycles at Larkin’s
We head towards Gillogue
Dad carrying a tin can
jumps the low wall
stomping down nettles
on his way to the lower field
to pick the biggest
juiciest blackberries
you ever saw.
Mam sits on a fallen tree trunk
mothering the baby
as we pick at our height
and run
slithering on cow dung
to thunder handfuls
into her can
our fingers and mouths
All containers full
we head back
to the Parish
to feast on hot blackberry jam
spooned over thick slices of Tubridy’s
black crusted cottage
the juice running down
our contented chins.

Written by: Mae Leonard