Wineberry

Or summer burst 

on the tongue, tart memory

rebirth of evolution, or

Appalachian disbelief.

Or grooves in those teeth that favor

 growth of seedling vines,

roots in the gum, the sinus,

limbic earth.

Or “Invasive,” — not quite

for the field boy who licks

the juice from dusty fingers,

knees stained and dirty as

the itch crawls up the denim 

or poison—

Ornamental. Or,

a sign of wellness. 

That boy picks one

feeds it to the dog,

don’t matter which 

AS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN CHOMP: A JOURNAL OF STUDENT LITERATURE AND ART