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.
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 in March 2023. Her poems and images are published in Bellevue Literary Review, Tupelo Quarterly, Thrush, Glassworks, Flock, One Art, and more. Kelly teaches a variety of creative writing workshops, in person and online, and she teaches Play Labs for the International Women’s Writing Guild and the Transformative Language Arts Network. Kelly produces the Featured Open Mic for the Journal of Expressive Writing. Reach her at kellydumar.com.
