The cherries gleam after the rain
The cherries gleam after the rain-
two drops of dark blood
in the child's squeezed hand.
The asphalt boils after each summer storm.
The lime tree bends over
and with its golden dust
a child will draw a sun, a house and a man
the iron fusillades of the rain
wash away the streets,
the angry men, everything,
while the mothers store away the sweetest cherry
in the fridge of memory
Translated by Hristo Dimitrov / Edited by Tom Phillips
The Bulgarian text first appeared in ‘Wings Made of Papier Mâché ’ (Janet-45, 2019)
