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
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
so this is the time to be alone, and rejoice. your heart is still whole after all these years. when there was nothing save the sidewalk salt, cigarettes in the gutter and unwashed skin— it was for naught but now. you were made to button shirts, read bright-covered books. run your hands through the puzzle … More rejoice alone
the tenderness of small things; apricots lush velvet in the palm of your hand, filigree spider web. how quietly an ant breathes. slow journey of caterpillar to leaf, dawn to dusk. I found a down feather today, perhaps a bird will bloom from it. … © 2019 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.
I cannot say that I am sane, though they will say I flamed in/sanity. To plan and pick a day to die, no guarantee of death. To find a wide expanse of green, soak your clothes in gasoline. To write a manifesto or no? A match or lighter? Walk along wide avenues, shuffle, look down, … More the lament of the man who burned alive
anna-christina betekhtin 