Berries dropping at Their Season's End

standing with
the sword fern
the arsenal foliage
that got us here

the fronds
still alive with
green polytheistic
weaponry in our battle

winning the
war many gods
sensed the forthcoming
storm assisting us coming out
in a forest of straight douglas fir over
five hundred years old and set in their ways

the forest is changing - much

magenta throbbing
our berries throughout

our mouths
give away our
activity

intact and everlasting -

white globules -
no sign of our berries
dropping at their season's
end

rotting stumps
filled with revelation

ancient tipi rings
snare the sinister

Indian spirits keeping
out evil -

letting us eat;
polygamy berries

rosette of bunchberries
making a gay punctuation
mark

!

Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist