Poem for Thursday, Great Falls, Passover

The Burning Bush is a Blackberry Bush
By Sarah Mathes

I wrote the poem. And then I rewrote it, and made it worse.
I thought time would heal it. Time passed. I did research: Exodus,
midrash, my mother. I rewrote the poem. I ate fistfuls of soft berries. Navy
lips. Purple lips. Juice bursting out of black balloons. I made it worse.
The poem knocked around my mind like unlabeled preserves darkening in the fridge.
Outside the page: tableaus of simple beauty.
Three different trees in one line of sight—plum, pear, palm.
Inside: A hand runs under a faucet, the soap stinging invisible cuts to life.

Have you seen a blackberry bush at the exact moment of its blushing,
when its tight little spheres bleed the green seeds bloody—
have you walked by shoeless on the way to the lake,
the sun lifting the hairs on your cheek,
no matter where you turn, something you love coming after you,
the bush burning in the stripped light,
unripe, alive, surviving —

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I had a very good but busy Wednesday, starting very early when we went to pick up Adam who landed at Dulles just after 7 a.m. We came home so he could sleep for a bit while Daniel and Cahaya worked on getting her phone fixed -- she needs it for some work while she's in the area -- then we met after lunch and went to Great Falls in unseasonably warm nearly-80-degree weather that brought out herons, turtles, and swallowtail butterflies in the peaking bluebells. 

We stopped so Daniel could pick up wine on the way to dinner, then went to my parents' for the first night of Passover seder, which involved a lot of excellent food (my mother made veggie brisket this year to go with the veggie matzoh ball soup) and even more excellent desserts. Then we dropped Daniel and Cahaya off at the Metro and came home so Adam could see his childhood friend Daniel, who's also in the area, while we watched The Mandalorian with all its guest stars.