When you google “blackberry” these days,
you are not met with images of a dark, plump fruit
hanging on a vine in the sun.
Instead, you’ll find blackberries
of metal, glass, and plastic,
the kind that break your teeth
if you try to eat them.
When I say blackberry, I don’t mean the cell phone.
What I mean is eternal life: the berry that is eaten by the cardinal
and the cardinal that is eaten by the cat
and the cat that dies of old age and is buried
in the backyard in the shade of the blackberry bushes.
So the earth takes back what is hers.
So we are, each of us, biodegradable,
recycled and repurposed.
A hundred years from now, the metal box you carried everywhere like an extra limb
will sit in a landfill among the plastic bags and bottles,
a container for ghosts and long dead voices,
but the blackberry you ate at lunch today
is a wise, transformative thing, knows how to decompose
and live forever.
Somewhere along this spinning wheel of growth and decay
you and I, too, will be remade
into a pair of glorious blackberries.
When that day comes, I hope we’re hanging on the same vine,
where the light hits, and that we won’t need phones
or even voices to speak to each other.