(A place of wild strawberries. A refuge. A sacred, hidden spot.)
My love is a difficult love.
Thin wrists reaching into bramble-seek,
thimbleberries slumbering blackly
under paper stars. A silence gruntled into silver-green serrations.
If I am scratched by this harvest,
let me wear the memory across my cheek:
your inkish-purple heart trip-trapping tiny bursts
against the holy steeple of my mouth.
Bethany Dixon is a writer, baker, and pianist living in Ithaca, NY. She spends her days working in Interlibrary Loan at Cornell’s Olin Library, crafting poems and pastries by night. Her poetry has been published in the Connecticut River Review and the North American Review. Bethany's current work focuses on reclaiming female narratives from ancient Greek texts.
Header Photo by Esther Wilhelmsson