Cloudberry

by Callan Latham
Illustration by Mollie Phalen

I am burning / in dusk

between your teeth / your
tongue / my language / gets

to know / silence / our heads
start at the tip / of the spine /

you do not speak / but here I am
standing between / the tongues of

nature / and even now I am nothing
but / an in between / space /

your mouth is a trap door /
crashing ice / into the belly

of the pond and / something
like frost / blooms in empty

pockets / you blame it on spring
coming too early / for the day

and once you pressed the stems /
of roses to my hand / whose thorns

had been cut / so they could no longer
know themselves / as the violence

they were born with / and you were
born with nothing but sharpness /

to make up for your bones / and the melted
rivers of your already aging past / dripped

from the very first time / dusk was
lifted from you / and you became /

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