special issue 1
// p o e t r y
Picking Raspberries in the Rain
by Sarah Cummins Small
My mother bends over a bush,
white hair cobwebbed, blue eyes
dimmed, thin skin of cataract
on the one that does not see.
In her hands: a dozen
sparkling rubies, juice droplets
spreading red on her palms—
an offering—or a sacrifice.
She is ancient oracle,
hunter-gatherer, keeper
of the hearth. She is healer,
nurturer, nourisher.
Rain droplets nest
in her crevices, face wrinkled
and creased as an apple-head doll—
She is full of all knowledge
and none. What is forgotten?
What is new each day?
This, though, she knows:
how to choose what’s ripe,
how to hold what will nourish
in one small cupped hand.
about the author // Sarah Cummins Small
| Sarah Cummins Small (she/her) lives outside Knoxville, TN. Her poetry has appeared in Appalachia Bare, Cider Press Review, Tiny Wren Lit, Yalobusha Review, and Willawaw Journal, among others. Her chapbook, Stitches, is forthcoming in July 2025 with Finishing Line Press. She holds an MA in English/creative writing from Iowa State University. |
Instagram, Facebook, Bluesky: @sarahcumminssmall
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