on an autumn evening

Sean Wilkening

when the sun balances
just above the treeline
it is time to go. i leave
the cool walls of home

for the open fields
where warm air brushes
against my cheeks.
jeans blue and torn

tucked into rubber boots
still caked with spring mud.
a walk to the edge of civilization
or to the border

of my grandparents land
where vines roam freely
devouring the ground,
birthing berries blacker

than a moonless sky.
each piece of fruit
a cluster of planets,
individual but connected,

creating a universe to hold
in my hands. carefully placing
each one in an ice cream bucket
my mother washed out for me.

fingers are small and clumsy
stained by purple juices.
with each berry picked
my pail gets heavier.