MATTHEW FAIRCHILD

Blackberries

Wild, we navigate through thorns and thistles along a two-lane road, snapping hands back at each prick. Here the air and water are cold, even in summer. I pull my jacket tighter, grinding the seeds between my teeth. The sweet quiet calms. Behind me someone yells. Another thorn. Another detour. The field of berries and weeds rolls in waves with the wind for a mile until it stops at a cliff above the sea. All is open to me. The peace ahead. My first few steps into the vines are cautious, remembering my hands. An engine turns over. Another clump, above the thorns. I grab them all. A few burst open in my hand. The juice cools as it slips lower in my palm. The shoreline sounds of splashes and gulls are carried inland by the breeze. Before I could not hear them. I turn back. No one is left. The others kept going to town. I follow.

Matthew Fairchild lives in Southern California and is a graduate of the MFA program in Creative Writing at Chapman University. He has previously been published in Salt Hill Journal, Rivet, South 85 Journal, and Split Rock Review, among others. He is also one of the Founding Editors of Anastamos Interdisciplinary Journal.