Berry Stain

I was baptized in blood and berry juice. The washing occurred

behind the house with the red garage that is always closed

with the cars always outside where I lived

as a barefoot girl with tangled hair.

The falling was a catching of branches to skin. Somehow

I landed on my back, blackberry bush reaching over me.

Its thorns ripped through my skin like beads of sand. I bled.

I had to push myself out, eyes closed, lids stained

and salt and iron and bitter pulp all ran down

to seep between my lips.

It’s still here on the back of my neck -

a stain that never can be washed away.

My lover likes to kiss it and I wonder

if he can taste the bush that punctured my skin.