Your Father Went to the Store, and: Had the Gall to Take My Black Ass Raspberry Picking

Your Father Went to the Store, and: Had the Gall to Take My Black Ass Raspberry Picking Nathan McClain (bio) was what I was told. I wasthree, so this was long ago,too young to knowhow he did it, but there wastime to learn. In the boardbooks we owned, therewere stories—Father Goesto the Store for Loaf of Bread,Father Goes for Gallon of Milk,Father Goes, Father Goes …the truth of it was plentiful.There was proof. What was thereto argue. When I asked,my mother said only,"Boy, your daddy gone,"which I thoughtI knew. To the store,I said, finishing her thought.I knew some day would come when I'd be old enoughto go the store myself,that my mother mightneed me to, which frightened me—what could we even need by then.Toothbrush. Shoe polish.Whatever my father waslooking for, which he did notbring home or never foundbut would not come backwithout, which, in some way,made his gone-ness feel morenoble, as though a quest. It wasnot a quest. The path was straightbut meaningless. At the end End Page 32 of it, a boarded building. A straycat at times. The streetlamp,fluttering on on cue, that's beenthere as long as I can remember. End Page 33 Had the Gall to Take My Black Ass Raspberry Picking Summer still.Summer and whatbetter to do with childrenin Western Mass.,plus, my daughter loves raspberries,especially the one insidemy wife's elbow, though to pluck it might take allthe ingenuity she can muster,(so much she has yetto understand)so yes, I went, or wentalong at least,the raspberry bushes farther off in the field,back, back, backby the bigger trees, the owner told us,where shadow seemedto gather almost as though it hadsomething planned. End Page 34 Clear, plasticcontainers the owner gave usfor picking. From possibly a hundred yearsago—the farmin her family's hands that long, the wayso much history is held.Kept. How long had they fastenedrope to these things,I wondered. You could wear themlike a yokeif you needed your hands free. "If you want,"she said. Don't worry,we'd never let our daughter wear this thing around her necklike some animal. And hereis where I should say we didn't wear it either—my wife, me—but we did. I hate to admit itwas easier, to justwear them End Page 35 while pickingthe raspberries. I mean,of course it was. End Page 36 Nathan McClain nathan mcclain (he/him) is the author of two collections of poetry: Previously Owned (Four Way Books, 2022), longlisted for the Massachusetts Book Award, and Scale (Four Way Books, 2017). He teaches at Hampshire College and serves as poetry editor of the Massachusetts Review. Copyright © 2024 Nathan McClain