BY: John Walser

Inside the almost tumbled silo
they threw against the stone walls
to hear the shatter
old tea cups, earthenware mugs
saucers, plates, bowls:
anything that would break:

the floor littered and duff layered
with slices and glazes.

They lean now into the blackberry bush
brush aside bees
to reach the remaining bubs
soft sweet squinch smearing their fingers.

If they can get enough from the center
the outer fruit easily picked already
they will make a crumble
and homemade berry ice cream.

If not enough: just vanilla ice cream
the berries on top.

If still not enough:  

he hopes not enough:

they will sit at the top
of the ploughshare hill:

she will strip naked
and he will eat them off
her juice stained back:

he will feed them to her
like she is eating the blue-red sun.

John Walser is a professor of English at Marian University-Wisconsin and holds a doctorate in English and Creative Writing from UW-Milwaukee. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Spillway, Mantis, The Normal School, December magazine, the Superstition Review, Natural Bridge, Thin Air, Sequestrum, North Dakota Quarterly Review and Lumina, as well as in the anthology New Poetry from the Midwest 2017.  A three-time semifinalist for the Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry, John is currently submitting three full-length manuscripts for publication: 19 Skies, which was a finalist for the Trio Prize from Trio House Press (2016); Chronoscopes; and Edgewood Orchard Galleries, which was a finalist for the Autumn House Press Poetry Prize (2016) as well as a semifinalist for both the Philip Levine Prize (2016 and 2017) and the Crab Orchard Series First Book Award (2017 and 2018).