*discusses assault* … When I was young, I was nearly run over by a bicycle from behind. Asphalt-burnt knees and heavy breathing, the softest gust of air before it happened, the wind knocked out of me. How he kept on going, the retreating wheels in the distance. How my mother cursed him, the dogs shied … More footsteps & wheels & stairwells
For whatever reason the rose waits to bloom, I wait too. Past midsummer and the rains, autumn windfalls and winter gains, the lean sodden spring is when I trust the leaden slush and bedraggled birds to learn me a new season. What a risk to trust in this— the fetid musk of life in flux … More wait to bloom
Mourn not the weeping wounds and tears. Let blood congeal, slow ripples. Blistered water boil, raindrop pus. All scars were water once. Cry no pain, gasp no ache. This body will healing drown in praise. … © 2017 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.