Ode to the Serviceberry

Late spring, bordering on summer. 
Bunnies at twilight come to eat the clover.
They have no fear as long as we are
behind glass, though the blinds are open.
Down the road, people are walking
their dogs and children run ahead in that
way that leaves their voices behind.
We pluck the darkest red berries
from the tree in the schoolyard: saskatoon, 
shadbush, wild-plum, shadblow; otherwise 
known as serviceberry—herald announcing 
when shad swam up coastal rivers in spring. 
And in an older tongue, blow could mean 
in a state of blossoming, also during that 
time of year when the soil had softened 
enough after a hard winter so bodies 
could be laid in the ground. Traveling 
preachers held a service under the trees, 
while birds filled themselves with sugar.