To call them berries
really is blasphemy
too bitter without
help of cinnamon, cloves, molasses
these cranberries
hanging in frosted bunches
bagged to be boiled
milled and canned
this collecting,
this pushing through dense brush
down grown over logging roads,
this speaking of the words
hey and
bear
this balancing act
of supermarket and
backyard
these berries
this ketchup
they became
this hunger for anything
I can put ketchup on
Jonas Lamb 