For you, a second recipe for blackberry tea.
A poem of prickly bounty to end April.
For a while you wore the evidence of your brush with wild, too poor to replace your clothing, too weary to consider shame. But now, befriend what reached out to snag your ankles tore your solitary pair of jeans, exacted blood for your exploring. Bend now, over the massed prickles, lean in. Snip with yo…
