You ride my back, grip
my neck. All the blackberries
of summer done—
Why are they gone?
Cycles are why. Memory
is berry full—craves more.
Mouth you have and tongue.
My fingers plucked fruit
from thorns—you ate
from my palm.
Can berries soon?
I carry your heft
through leaf-blank oaks
into early dusk. A light is
on, for the first time.
Is summer far?
Charlie stops to lap—why
even a brook must toughen up.
Must freeze before we’ll hear
its gurgle after thaw.
Is dead dead?
If bee scents nectar—fruit
will start—red—before purple—
shine—before dull—black
before raw on your tongue.
This poem first appeared in Flyway Journal (2024).
—
Kelly DuMar is a poet, playwright and workshop facilitator from Boston. She’s author of four poetry collections, including jinx and heavenly calling, published by Lily Poetry Review Books. Her poems and images are published in Bellevue Literary Review, Tupelo Quarterly, Thrush, Flock and more. Kelly facilitates expressive arts support groups for psychologists and therapists working in war zones. She produces the Featured Open Mic for the Journal of Expressive Writing. Reach her at kellydumar.com
