Hortensia Anderson

By Heart

The trail to the raspberry brambles has been hidden by weeds and grass for decades but our bare feet know the way. Grandmother and I gather handfuls of raspberry clusters in her straw hat as we savour bittersweet drupelets.

Later, on the porch, as I unbraid her hair for bed, it ripples to her waist in streaks of pink, as if the clouds had been blooming early...

love songs
on grandfather's guitar–
she knows them by heart