“berries so clear a man may see through them”
after Gerard’s Herball, 1597
Parasitic black globes hung against dusk
float, beheaded and strung-up skulls
in arms of the skeletal oak they eat tonight,
along with the last solstice light,
a desperate silver. Had my shotgun now,
I’d shoot some down for you,
said a man repairing my roof,
shingles blown, rain driven in, something’s proof.
To the Celts, the ancient Greeks,
those white berries were divine semen,
potent fruit, Saturnalian sperm,
what you will. That they also mollifieth ulcers?
Inspire an arbored tryst, a kiss?
I’d tie red ribbon to & hang it. For this.
