Blackberry Picking

My friend with the short golden hair 

        eats blackberries from the bramble

grown torn and tangled by the road.

She does not fear the toxic fumes

      from cars, she does not fear

a tiny insect hidden in the fruit,

she does not fear misidentifying

      and poisoning.

She feeds her child a berry.

Her fingers are blue-stain and casual, 

         she has no sanitiser in her pocket,

she does not mistrust herself, or the world. 

I would love to be so natural,

           so easy on a walk-

and not instead, to fear the thorn.