The Sand Hill Review               http://www.sandhillreview.org 2011

What You Gave Me

I remember you taught me to drink

cranberry juice. Not the sweet kind.

The kind with a bite

when I take it into my mouth.

So bitter I have to wince

at least a little. I remember

what you gave me,

the medicine it required,

and the time I drove an hour

into a bad part of a big city

to get you, and you slipped

into a prettier woman’s car

and drove away.

I’ve not lost count

of the thirteen shots you tossed

back before I left you that time

in the first bar I’d ever been to.

But what I think of

when the house is empty

and I pour cranberry juice cold

into this heavy glass

is the night you asked

to hear my poems over and over.

We were stretched naked

on your bed in the failing

light, and when you finally touched me,

your hand was so dark

my skin glowed against it.

Francesca Bell