I pulled weeds from gravel driveways for a few summers. Dandelions are a hack with a trowel, thin weedy spines a quick straight pull, fat jade plants, low to the ground, impossible until you find the root. Gloves help, but not always. Even be-gloved, close-cut nails collect grime. There is time to think about how … More weeds + alien seeds
Last night I think the moon was full. At least it looked like it, behind the clouds. … I once had a dream when I was old enough to realize that I had only a little time left of being small. … Snowing and a full moon. I and my mother skating swift smooth laps … More the moon + clouds
In Chicago, you walk from the station across the tracks to the train, step up into tons of sleek aluminum hurtled to a brief standstill before once again screaming through suburbia. Running towards the tracks and the sigh of the conductor across little-town streets, we tried not to be terrified by the sheer power of … More take the train home
I must have been young when I saw what I saw. … I know my brother was old enough to climb into the bunkbed, but not old enough to speak as he speaks now. I know I was old enough to set the table and that my brother wasn’t, and that we both still needed … More run through him
The sky has finally darkened, the cloud cover fallen so near the rooftops. I looked through the window this morning and thought I saw a gargoyle, nestled among the vines. You can see him even now, dark rain-spigot snout, the sureness of engineered edges, un-bedraggled by the drizzle. The leaves cling to life, tattered and … More but not now
life all along was a beauty was a burden was a thing we could not keep … © 2015 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.
When I was young, I would twist my left knee up and sideways until it was level with the bottom of my ribcage, bend my head until I could get eye-level with the dark splotch that marked my sole. As I grew, it faded and I forgot that I was ever marked on the arch, … More feet
And the first angel wept, wet feathers and bent knees. All this glory, and what for. All this empty, and what it would become. … The answer, the unfurling of wings, the millennia to pass. What will happen if I stay here. … Let me dry your wings. Stand up. There is a story to … More all this empty
anna-christina betekhtin 