Not time
to commute,
or get your hair done,
or pick up the dry cleaning.
Not time to complain
about gas prices
or church politics
or the folly
or some self-serving
Senator’s ways.
Nope,
it’s not time
to do your overdue
taxes or ponder
the day’s news
or pay the electric
bill or fetch
the kids from day camp
or drop
them off at your mother’s
or rush home
to cook dinner from a can.
It’s time to wade
into the brambles
in high leather boots,
faded jeans,
a light-colored, long-sleeved t-shirt,
and let rivulets of summer sweat
roll down your pant legs.
If you can,
spray beforehand for ticks,
avoid rattlesnakes,
keep an eye on the dogs.
You must also
be prepared
to bloody
your hands.
And please try,
if you will,
to put more sweet
berries in your bucket
than in your mouth,
so we can have
blackberry cobbler
for dessert.
This poem was first published in Time of Singing, a poetry journal, in a slightly different form.
Shan Overton is an educator, writer, and gardener living in Nashville. Her essays and poems have appeared here in The Porch and in other publications, including Belt Magazine. She currently serves as The Porch's Poetry Editor and is Dean of Academics at American Baptist College, a liberal arts HBCU.