sleeves pulled thin

Coffee so hot it burns more than the throat, quiver and break and begin again more tremulous than ever. Sheathed wrists and sleeves pulled thin by uncut nails. Averted eyes and stale radiator hiss. Papercuts that break skin but do not draw blood, unwashed linen and too many dishes in the sink. Remember when you … More sleeves pulled thin

a library day

Whole empty tables in the library bare, coffee that was not cold on a day that was. A lone pencil rolls away on worn boards. The walls are lemon yellow, no wallpaper to drive me mad. Where does the lonely sunlight stream? Quiet sighs that collect in pages and leak out on my dappled ones. … More a library day


One afternoon, when I was young, I found a swan’s feather by the shore of the boat pond, straight and white, the slight hard curve of a silhouette. I bought an ostrich feather in midtown, in a shop filled with buttons and ribbons, froth and tumble of extravagant curls. The peacocks running free at the … More feathers

country life

Build the mill, plow. Keep the orchards clean, shear the flocks and turn them out to pasture. There is no disaster. Fear not the flood and flame, the wasting disease the herd will suffer come autumn. Perhaps the corps shall rot. Grass will grow. You will have white wool and apples. … © 2018 Anna-Christina … More country life

oxen & antelope

Burn the city and salt the earth. Nothing that has any worth will stay and thrive; stretch and dry the speckled hides of antelope under desert sky. Let the olive orchards die. Leave the citadel in ruins, repent on the long walk west. Leather ties bind wrists to oxen, lead them lowing on unbeaten paths. … More oxen & antelope

song of misery

Sing a song of misery, let the heart collapse. There is nothing left to mourn save what is crude and crass. Aching arms and blistered feet, bloody hands and raw, red meat; repeat the lies you once believed and give in to the bitter grief. … © 2017 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.

save the splinter

Broken eggs in unopened cartons, careful hands save the splinter from rough skin. The milk’s gone sour again, but there is no blood I can see. The feast of mold on the bread you bought yesterday and we soak your feet in warm water, try to save the things we can. … © 2017 Anna-Christina … More save the splinter

wait to bloom

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

weeping wounds & tears

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.