Blackberry anxiety

I am an impossibly impatient person

You know that I am, it’s a failing I promise I can’t stop,

I strangled the berries on my father's friend’s blackberry bush and devoured them all, even the weak ones in my youth

Fingers and face stained black and purple,

Sustainable from a future I was to share later in black bird crow fury.

Your yellow line isn’t cowardice

It’s a yellow truce and wrought with damaged pieces of seedlings that have turnt up from harsh weather that comes up white hot and yellowed the plants into submission.

It’s a shaky truce that we all had to pay dearly with our hearts and feelings and physical bodies, weaving in and out like a parasite who made a nest of our willow trunk home.

I felt your pain in and out of my own.

I felt your nesting fevers settle in my mouth and into my breath.

Yes, you, my dear, lovely Jane.

I declare as Edward Rochester is my name and as my solid house reigns,

Your heart is welcome in my hearth, always, my lady.

My anxiety runs high even now, I fear that I have tried to sink the life blood from our heart’s breath too far gone,

Trickling like those blackberries,

All molten in the green sun yard,

Am I too far gone?

Am I lost as I find myself always dreaming of you?

Every day I can’t stop hearing your name in my ear.

My blackberry anxiety is always too hot like summer’s endless sprain, cutting me open and letting the dogs eat my insides only for the morning rain to let it heal and start all over again.