“Black Bells” by Diana Darby

Diana Darby

BLACK BELLS

In Texas, in April,
when the blackberries—
plump and luscious and ready—
wait along the railroad tracks, I spend

mornings walking barefoot
on the hot gravel,
cramming

the tender blackness of spring
into my mouth,
drenching my tongue in
virginal sweetness, melting

the thick frost that has lived on my lips
since that dark day
he kissed me
goodbye.

from Rattle #1, 1995

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