Berries of oregon grape (mahonia). photo by John F. Williams

Huckleberry

by Annie Fanning

 
Hop across the creek
and pick up the trail
next to the little spring
seeping out of the hill
virid with lady fern
and dank with skunk cabbage
turn away from the wetland
and follow the fringecup
out of the clay and into the duff
this is the way past trillium
and foam flower
between creek and forest
follow the bleeding heart
to the old stump
the last of the hemlock
crowned with red huckleberry
in flower
the promise of berries inconspicous
nodding pink and green
from the leaf axils
this is the way to remember midsummer
the foam flower melted away
before the forest feels dusty
and pecked to particulate
before sun rays articulate
between dead fall and decay –
wing to the stump for the fruiting
each bright berry a bird away
from a new beginning.

Mahonia

by Annie Fanning

Rooting around
under the mahonia
I nick a rhizome
with my spade
a startling yellow
against dark soil

Striking in early spring
mahonia in flower
heavy clusters of buds
astringent yellow tinged with pink
the same shocking newness
yellow against dark
leaves bronzed by age

By late summer
berries hang heavy
on the mahonia
the dark, glaucous fruit
a silvery blue
like mist against a night sky
the acidic yellow
no longer a color
but there in taste
a sharp, tart surprise

mulberries

by Amanda Williamsen

 
there is a dirt road — a steep hill — rainwater ruts crisscrossing
the road and rolling to a mossy canal — there are three steel culverts,
an earthen berm for a bridge — and a girl on a blue bicycle, flying
downhill — through the woods, over the canal, out from shade
into blinding sun — whipping down the farmer’s lane — her eyes shut
— this lane lined with wild mulberry trees — her long black hair
snapping behind her like a torn flag — arms shaking — knees bent, thighs
bunched — hunched and hovering like a jockey who never touches the saddle —
gravel scatters — and the wind drags tears over her temples and into her hair

in the floodplain now, the road a straight shot to the river — acres of corn
flapping past— their green applause—and the mulberry trees sparkle
with jewels, gleaming fruit in every shade of ripeness — a hard, unready
white — a pink like the inside of a clamshell — bitter crimson — feral
purple — and a black so rich it falls in the road — in ruts dug deep
by the heavy combine — puddles after thunderstorms — the bicycle tires
spray mud onto her legs — she can stand, can rake a hand
through the branches — snatch some chattering leaves and a berry or two —
she can peel out before she hits the abandoned white cottage on the bank

this is June — is July — is August — is the summer she is fourteen —
sharing the bike and the mud — picking mulberries with her sister
— and their neighbor with a pretty blond ponytail — and the boy with the boat —
this quartet in the kitchen when she — ta da! — pulls a mulberry cream pie
from the freezer — she made it herself — have some? — and only the boy
shrugs and gives it a try — it’s terrible — truly awful — but he smiles —
and now what, all these mulberries — what else are they good for —
tie-dyeing, of course — and it’s back to the riverbank with T-shirts and twine —
a soup kettle carried through the corn — a little fire — sticks from the stick pile —
the fire too small to boil the berries bobbing in river water — and the shirts won’t
sink — they must be weighted down with rocks — after an hour the girl
who made mulberry cream pie puts out the fire with mulberry stew and stones

they untie the shirts — but there’s no purple sunburst — just a sloppy
lavender swirl — and four sighs — and later, after their mothers
wash the shirts, all that’s left is a feathery smudge — like a wing print
made of smoke — shadow of a shadow at noon — a girlhood, a ghost too soon

Evergreen huckleberry. photo by John F. Williams

Amanda Williamsen lives, writes, and teaches on Bainbridge Island. Her poetry has appeared in Baltimore Review, New Ohio Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Midwestern Gothic, and other journals. A native Ohioan and nature lover, she is also a past poet laureate of Cupertino, California and a Pushcart Prize nominee. She is a graduate of Wittenberg University and The Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University.

Annie Fanning loves the maritime climate and enjoys the far-reaching effects of both the Pacific Ocean and Salish Sea on her local North Seattle weather. From her home among sword fern and Doug fir, Annie talks to the wind and occasionally writes a few things down. In the past, Annie has been a Seattle Tree Ambassador, a Green Seattle Partnership Forest Steward and a board member of Thornton Creek Alliance. Today, she is a published nature poet. 

Joy Sprague lives on beautiful Bainbridge Island surrounded by the Salish Sea. Her love of nature inspires her writing. Joy is mesmerized by bird song and abundant wildlife as she strolls beaches and woods near her home with her husband and their dog, Cooper. She enjoys hiking, pickleball, and kayaking.

Nancy Taylor is a retired nurse practitioner who has dabbled in poetry for the past decade. Her interests are gardening, walking through forests and petting her two fluffy, mostly white Havanese dogs. She loves dogs so much she wrote a poetry book, Can We Keep Him, to benefit Kitsap Animal Rescue & Education (KARE).

Sue Hylen, a poet and photographer, finds her images with her pen and lens in those unexpected, juxtaposed moments with her six grandchildren or while cycling around Bainbridge Island.
Sue served with the Bainbridge Island Park District office for 30 years as the Cultural Arts and Events Manager, organizing a variety of arts and cultural workshops and other community events for 30 years.

For more than 25 years, Sue participated in the Bainbridge Island Writers Workshop facilitated by Nancy Rekow, where she began to find her muse. Published in 2001, Sue’s first chapbook, “Double Exposure”, features 23 poems with 15 black and white photographs. In 2020 Sue published “Lines from My Notebooks,” a collection of 34 poems old and new. Her most recent work, “Unravelling My Life Lines,” is a full-length book of 66 poems, with new poems and favorites from her first two books.

Table of Contents, Issue #28, Summer 2025