Berry picker

I’m eating raspberries and hoping the seeds get stuck in my teeth. They are tart raspberries from California, but not like the raspberries in California that I’m used to. These were shipped off and freezing and I like them warm on the vine behind the garage when my mom would send me out on summer days. I’d pluck the ruby round sweaters and leave the pearl naked body. I’d eat half and put the rest in recycled strawberry baskets to take inside. But then I’d move to the boysenberries, the peaches, the apricots, the yellow pear tomatoes. I’d graze our yard like a deer, slink around with the cats. And no one would be watching.