Berry Season

I lick the 
purple 

from my fingers
and sneak

another blackberry
from the 

plastic. I have
never

picked them from the
thorny

vine. currants, yes
dewberries

under dappled 
august

strawberries the size
of my 

smallest nail, and
sun-warm

tomatoes. when 
I worked

in produce I’d 
wear gloves

to dodge sharp carton
cuts. pluck 

gooseberries off
the shelf,

check expiration
shove new

boxes to the 
back, no

rattlesnake but
peeled seed

of pomegranate 
tumbling

to the floor. but
even 

trapped inside with
80’s

hits repeated 
I dreamed

in seasons, squash
season

season of citrus
thrilling

swell of yellow
grapefruit

in december,
stone fruit

season, date palm
prickly

pear, so meaty red
it earns

a title all 
its own

and in july
I say 

with my own hand-
ful of 

black apatite, it’s
berry

season it’s berry 
season

it’s berry
season

GABRIELLA GARCIA

Gabriella Garcia is a writer raised in the Sonoran Desert and lives in the Pacific Northwest. In her writing, she seeks to uplift the beauty and politics of everyday life. You can find her poetry in Rust & Moth and The Seventh Wave’s “Well-Crafted” Bulletin.