Cigar smoke and yellow ginkgo leaves, apple tart crumbs and the coos of eager pigeons that startle at the least sign, simultaneous soar to the safety of the trees or the foolish apartment building with no spikes to deter their sitting. I toss them pieces of pastry, and they come so close as to touch. … More pigeons

bee haiku

Who can know the bee? We will be known by his god— only the—her—breeze. … © 2019 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.


Walking by the Hudson can condensation cold, hot sun sweat and an excuse to be alone figs fertile split of ruined ripe bursting the rough bitter of grey amethyst velvet green plastic cage of fruit in hand and salt-stain wood, old orange rosehips thorned, soft smog. Clover can not be anything but content. Queen Anne’s … More hudson

on waking

in the muted pastel stillness of your bedroom, let the light bend around the corner. look to vibrating shadows on still white curtains, the embroidered cloth you have carefully pinned to unevenly-painted walls. the dry air of windows too-long shut in the summer heat, artificial stagnant breeze of the air conditioner. keep the covers on, … More on waking

in the afternoon

The leaves move quietly in the gentle wind, remembering where the coolness came from: far away, across the sea. Great churning depths, the boil of black water and the grave; an empty voice in the sweating void. Summer days of pelting rain, melting plastic; the slow release of poison from what we made with our … More in the afternoon

the body won

if the body was not won quite yet, it was one. separate for so long, the years too slow to count: of too few fruits, the beginning and end of everything collapsed in the interminable middle. so strive to feel, be as kind as you are able. leave the glass of wine unfinished, subway stare … More the body won


and after the poison, the hips narrowed to bone. there was less of me then, hair shed, bruises on the inside of elbows. I did not know what to believe: was I somehow better now, that there was not excess of me, that the spread of death was quenched? acid throat, the shattered rending. where … More chemo

shadow birth

where did the shadows come from? the day was bright and fair, the breeze was not a burden. they came and went so sweetly, latticework curled softly by. through leaf-ed cathedrals, apartment windows, posted bus-stop schedules and the mingled grumbles of a city not quite sleeping yet, an afternoon nap. sunshine and the moving air, … More shadow birth


this new body, born of old, is still too wracked to call my own. fragile neck and curled, stiff spine; I try to be too kind and wise to a thing that will not bend. so, then, rebel. do not sleep and do not eat, let sores run ragged, fresh and deep. but it heals … More rebel