Autumn has arrived and out of all the seasons autumn is my favourite. I like the way autumn shuts the door on summer and turned slightly to the north wind, the fresh cool mornings clouds that add colour to sunrises and sunsets and foraging for fruit. I wrote the poem “Blackberries” for my mother in 2006 and I read the poem out at Mama’s funeral Thursday 13th August 2020.
I see the empty jar where the blackberries were
Idle, on its own, redundant till next time.
Mam is in the kitchen singing while she bakes.
I know this is Mam’s favourite room
for she is aways happy here.
Her floury hands make clouds of dust.
her nails are encrusted with dough.
Five hungry faces moan
“How much longer must we wait?”
as we sit at the table in Mam’s favourite room.
The oven is opened, the heat flushes
our faces to bright red as we wait to be fed.
The plumb purple blackberries smell so sweat
encased in their coat of pastry, good enough to eat.
The juices leak out from the tart
as she cuts six slices and pours ‘Ideal milk’
from a tin onto our plates which are now licked clean
We giggle and make fun of each others purple tongues.
Sat in Mam’s favourite room surrounded in warmth but most of all love.
Julie Prichard (Griffin) 2006