girlbedroom

Childhood Law

the law declared dozens
of fruiting bodies planted
in every yard. we grew rich
with hazelnut, strawberry,
tart cherry, and johannisbeeren,
fat with black walnut, quince,
and honeysuckle. at the edge
of the yard tangled
a wide apple orchard, abandoned,
except for in our playpretends,
when it was populated
by land-stranded pirates.
but there, at that edge
lived the blackberries.

we’d sucker ourselves
sweet on those little gems.
we’d pry ourselves bloody
through the bramble
in the name of joy.

i, too, want to love
and be loved well—like holding
a palmful of ripe blackberries,
refusing,
to tighten the grasp, to crush
for the sake of sweetness
or dark, beaded drip.

Tara Labovich (they/them) is a professor of Creative Writing in Iowa. Their award-winning multi-genre writing can be found in over sixty publications, including Brevity and Tractor Beam. You can find them online at @taralabovich or checking out the prairies of the midwest with their dog, Finn.