DAMSONS*

Rare now by roads, forgotten walls,

purple drupes with slate blue sheen

or, trodden in, a yellow mush.

Its tangled cage of twigs a shock,

the fierce black energy of coils.

Small white flecks of blossom became

my grandfather’s powerful wine.

Picking from inside the crown

thread your hand through sharp, dull spikes.

The ripened fruit is bittersweet,

a potent draw for those midlife,

the best to come, the season short.

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*damsons – blue black fruits similar to small plums