Blackcurrants (poem)


you fill large enamel pots
full of ripe blackcurrants
the warm air pungent 
& sticky with their juice

I was never sure what
you did with them all
you'd think cupboards
would have been full 
of jams and jellies...

the bushes are gone now
along with your pruned roses
& the willow tree
& you

yet here I am always
looking up at you
your back bent picking
from the rows of bushes
with overflowing basins
at your feet

Joanne Fisher

This was another poem to my grandmother.

This was first published in Catalyst 17

It’s Pride Month! Why not support a queer writer – Ko-fi 🏳️‍🌈

©️2022 Joanne Fisher

6 thoughts on “Blackcurrants (poem)

  1. I just got back from the farmers market and the fresh sweet peas are in season. It’s funny that as I shopped I could still see my grandparents picking rows of sweet peas in the garden even though they have been gone for 25 years.


  2. I know I’ll like your next poem. But for the record, I loved this poem. It reminded me of my grandparents in their garden. They may not have been picking blackcurrents but I can still see them in the rows. Happy memories.


  3. So beautiful. You’ve taken me back to a memory of picking berries with my grandmother in her yard. She used every space in her yard to grow food and she died before I realized just how truly her garden was.

    Liked by 1 person

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