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Raspberried

July 2, 2022 6 Comments

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When I was a child, I ate raspberries straight from the bush in the backyard of our small yellow house. I picked them from the plants before the birds could eat them. They were red, bumpy, and sweet.

Today, I counted the raspberries in the green plastic box and divided by three. Some for me, some for my daughter, and some for my grandson. Product of Mexico via California. They were rinsed, cold, and tangy.

When I’m gone—when this cancer finally takes me—I hope to be planted under a tree or buried in my grandchildren’s garden. Unburdened, growing, raspberried.

By Meg Murray

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. Khadija Rashid says

    July 2, 2022 at 7:21 am

    Love the word ‘raspberried’

    Reply
  2. Pamela R says

    July 2, 2022 at 12:54 pm

    Love the repetition of the three adjectives at the end of each paragraph. It binds the story and connects beginning to end, both literally and metaphorically. Nicely done.

    Reply
  3. Valli Henry-Boldini says

    July 5, 2022 at 12:13 pm

    Great read… loved the title and ending… kudos…

    Reply
  4. Bob says

    July 7, 2022 at 7:09 pm

    No deep comment. Just enjoyed it. Had a bit of a wow moment.

    Reply
  5. Miruna says

    July 15, 2022 at 5:27 pm

    I loved this!

    Reply
  6. Lynn says

    August 4, 2022 at 5:30 pm

    The circle of life and the life we circle. So lovely.

    Reply

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