My grandmother grew these along a fence that leaned more every year. She'd send us out with a colander and a warning about thorns, and we'd come back stained to the elbows, purple in the creases, mad with sugar. The raspberries never made it to the kitchen. Not once. The blackberries went into a jar, and the jar sat on a shelf getting darker all winter. This pile looks like her table after a good picking. Red next to black, both glossy, both stubborn, the colors of her aprons and her hands. She taught me to check under the leaf before pulling, because the best ones hide where the sun don't reach. I still do it. I still look under the leaf. The background here is pure red, loud as her kitchen wallpaper, and the berries sit in a white line like they're waiting for someone to come home. Some afternoons I buy a punnet just to feel the fuzz again. Then I stand at the sink and I'm seven. She's at the window. Everything's fine. The stain doesn't wash out for days. I keep it there as long as I can. #berries #family #nostalgia #grandmother
