by Seth MacGregor
*CW: physical violence
Berried are many saskatoons on the saskatoon shrub, and on the ground up and down the trail we hiked. We picked them on our way home, filled bags and later your mom made pie. My bag sat in my fridge for a week. I felt an arm rest on my shoulder for balance. There is a red when the berry is incumbent, when the red is inside, like when I watched you crush the berries like young wine on the gravel. Sour mud from the dust and juice stuck in the nooks of your shoes and left spots between us. It was something to do between us, while the edge of your smile careened up and down your face. I didn't expect you to punch me in the face. But all good fruit ripens purple, like this trail’s reddened blue hues, like the red-blooded berries which soured the prairies.
Seth MacGregor is a writer, musician, and recent UBCO graduate with a BA in English and Creative Writing. Seth writes from Tiohti:áke/Montreal on the unceded territory of the Kanien’kehá:ka Nation. His work has most recently appeared in Grain.
Headlight Anthology 