We bounced in the bed of the pickup
Clutching the buckets we grabbed from the kitchen,
Yelling to each other over the roar of the engine
And the whistle of the wind.
The raspberries were ripe for the picking,
Or so he had said.
The truck pulled to a stop and we noticed her lack of shoes
I gave her mine and crawled back into the bed
He followed close behind.
Tangled in each other we watched as butterflies drifted lazily by
Dancing through the air, and kissing the red trillium.
We spoke of things we had yet to understand.
That’s when it happened, I was barely 13.
And let myself be swayed,
His sister’s scream cut through the heat,
And saved me from the sin I nearly committed.
The snake was gone with the moment, as my
Raspberry lover gathered the day’s spoils
And returned to the truck, forgetting
His sad eyed conquest.