Zarzamora Hunting

So this poem is incomplete, but I feel like all my thoughts today have been incomplete. Time is passing slowly and quickly and all at once and not at all and it all feels very strange.
Today I walked down to Church St. (Still sunshine, Praise the Lord!) and got a free Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Cone. I have no idea what flavor they gave me... I just asked for something with a lot of peanut butter. Whatever I got was delicious.
But I've also today been looking forward to spending the summer with my favorite sister. I called her today panicked about insurance stuff and frustrated and emotional, and from the way I asked her whether I needed a witness to sign she was able to figure out all of that and tell me to take a deep breath and smile. I love her so much and I cannot wait to see her in three weeks!!!
So anyway, this very incomplete collection of thoughts which will count as a poem in order to fulfill my April goals, is all about her.

Zarzamora Hunting

The taste of blackberries on my tongue
makes my face cringe with the sour
and the memory of your eye-
red and squinty-
because you leaned too far
while reaching for that berry.

We used to dye our shirts blue
as we pulled the edges into baskets
to collect enough to
"make a pie,"
but back at home
we only ever brought stained fingers
and one or two uneaten moras.

We got a thousand cuts
from climbing through those thorns
and had to hop barbed wire fences
and climb trees.
But we found hidden forts,
made the forest our playground.
Mom saw messy clothes
and your red eye,
but we knew: the zarzamora dew was magic.