French Like Wild Blackberries

That’s not quite French, she said, lips
Pursed to the side. It’s like a creole

Not one or the other. Just one house down
Always from being right, one footstep

One century, one president. With soul closed,
Judgement open of course she can’t see

Complex webs of light and life, drums you feel in
Your ribs, warm plantains, and french like wild blackberries

Rachel Vinciguerra (she/her) is a poet, children’s book author, and prose writer from Pittsburgh. She is constantly looking for the nearest body of water. Her work is forthcoming in Door is a Jar. More info at

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1 Response to French Like Wild Blackberries

  1. L.K. Latham says:

    I attached to the reference for “creole” right away – my heritage, but I can see other meanings here too. A good one to think about.

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