Betty Stanton

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May Apple

Under wide leaves, the fruit swells
pale the face of our hunger, our sharp

teeth, our bloodied, tearing hands. It looks
like something to be gathered, but the roots

know to swell, teach us patience through
warnings. What feeds you one season will

hollow you in the next. We cultivate it
anyway. We learn to tether our teeth. We

fail. Hunger does not vanish, it learns
where to wait for apples to burst open.

Betty Stanton (she/her) is a Pushcart nominated writer who lives and teaches in Tulsa, Oklahoma. She received her MFA from the University of Texas – El Paso and also holds a doctorate in educational leadership. She is currently on the editorial board of Ivo Review. @fadingbetty.bsky.social