We had left around nine that night for an eleven o’clock game, far from where I knew the roads even in daylight. The familiar cries, boys I didn’t recognize who piled bags in the back of pickup trucks, sticks in the cabin. Waiting in the wind while it was decided who would be burdened with … More a hockey game, two years ago
Revenge is still a stone I swallowed without knowing how long it would stay. When will it gravel? … © 2016 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.
The stairs were not there. Instead, opaque white plastic sheeting and orange cones consumed the crumbling concrete with the warning of new steps to navigate when the concrete dried and the caution of tape was soothed to safety. But now no cautious step could stop me when I set my instep on the railing, heaved … More bruise
this is the speech I gave at the St. Olaf Gospel Choir’s Fall Concert today, as well as at a beautiful little church in Minneapolis a few weeks ago. thankful for the oppertunity to speak on racial justice and grieving, and for the incredible family I’m proud to sing with. … I left the first … More flood/fire/flight
I remember that broken February when I read Augustine for the first time, and I knew that I would never believe in his pear tree, his mother or his faith. His agonies of ecstasy, his fear and trembling joy, his surrender to whatever it was that called him. How impossible his healing. … I … More broken febuary
Midnight tulips and the newest breath are shattered petals under icy faucets, and my ragged lungs bloom smoke. Cold air and a little gasp in the dark, and I might learn to love you yet as the petals freeze. … © 2016 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.
If I can remember anything, it is the sidewalk burning, burgeoning darkness over the river. The hushed rush to shelter, subway, awning, underneath anything that can protect from the oncoming onslaught. A few hesitant spurts, is that the condensation from the air conditioning units falling to the earth? No. A light wind has its way … More the storm & afterwards
They tell me that my first word was strawberry. Of course, it was more like sogabie, but a valient effort nonetheless. Before mother, before father, it was a fruit. … They read to me about a badger whose favorite food is bread and jam. It is called Bread and Jam for Frances. I do not … More bread and jam and strawberries
I am so young that I can’t remember the world being anything other than enormous. The road from our apartment to the park winds too close to being a journey I can’t make on six-year-old feet. My father holds my hand as I balance on the curb. I must have walked so many miles that … More the first death
My mother says that she had splitting migraines when she was pregnant with my brother. A month of bedrest and cabin fever, one moment of a heartbeat fallen too far, a cesarean birth, and her head split open from the inside all the whole while through. I don’t think she had ever quite forgiven him … More migraines and nightmares