Blackberries
Where we come from fruits
don’t grow on trees,
Nor berries on bushes
We climb chain linked fences
We pick hard candy from 15 cent jars
We dip our heads under subway turnstiles
We choose our favorite flavor Italian Ice
We stay for a second matinee to keep cool
And summer time means more time
before the street lights come on
Sleeping with the fan on high
We never picked blackberries or
Swung from a tire swing
Climbed a mountain or played in shallow creeks
But sometimes when the blacktop gets so hot your souls melt
Mama says it is too hot to cook
And the hydrants get opened
My Granny says in her high pitched country voice
“Even in the city the blackberries need water to
grow big and sweet.”
And we smile because she’s talking about us
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