Temptation

Christian Century, July 26, 2003 by Carol Barrett

Temptation

   Bringing you a handful of raspberries
   I lifted a child's offering to your own
   pale fist, stirring the collander,

   cheese cloth already the color of jam,
   the air acrid with sweet pulp. Raspberry
   is the only stain that stays, will not

   purple in the evening light, seeds hard
   as mustard. I remember the froth pinking
   at the edges, as if mating cotton candy

   and snow cone, the warning it would burn
   my tongue salt red. We stay such impulses
   with trial: stained hands return

   to the berry patch, ripe lobes falling
   from pith. The young hold to the stem,
   squeeze honeycomb cells, while sparrows

   drop seedy pink splotches on the drive.
   I make another hollered entrance through
   the kitchen door, soaked with fruit

   mouth fuchsia with discovery, your apron
   billowing for a damp hand, its exquisite
   cherry joy. Thus we learn the plump

   lessons of the vine, the urge to gulp,
   the raspberry smell of savor. Jelly
   cools beneath a creamy paraffin lid.

   In the glass: our berried youth.