Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010


by Tom Sutton

Submerged in the bushes, we dived
under bowers encumbered by
berries. Your sister was swallowed
by pregnant bowed branches, a red-
currant womb which delivered up
fruit poised to split at the touch of
our fingers, a yield that could match
you for plumpness and ripeness, but
never could better your sweetness
or perfect grace.
Grey cloud rolled over,
warm rain smattered down.
we plucked at the bounty, the black-
currants scarlet, the gooseberries
sweet as your cool claret lips to
which fruit was forbidden. We kept
most and ate them when you would be
weaning: the sharpness would thrill you,
awaken you, shock you and thus
I can spring your un-opening
eyes with this first red-taste burst on
your milk-soaked tongue.

Added: 14.04.2010