It’s a heartache, nothing but a heartache… … Three in the morning and it is a time of heartache. Nothing breaks. But there are nightmares, of seeing faces I know through windows that should be closed and curtained. They peer through open and bare glass, as surely and cold as the stares of tired children … More college heartache
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
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
For a reason, you leave. For a reason, they leave. … The space they filled has a sound. Do not wake with their name in your throat. Do not repeat it as an instinct as you drift to sleep. Repeat instead your own. … What is one night good for but a soft regret? … More the gentle haunting
The dachshund nestles in the hollow of your brother’s back, wheezing and snuffling to himself. The dog digs at the Persian carpet, pees in the corner, and occasionally bites people. Oscar is a holy terror. He sits in your lap, sweetly places his nose in the hollow of your chest, and violently elbows you in … More how to leave college
If anyone asked me now what there was between us, I would swear it was nothing. The last time we fought was years ago, three in the morning, his eyes red from drink, mine from crying. The others are wickedly hilarious at the other end of the table, laughing off the alcohol. I trace the … More the nothing
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.
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
Lord of all Letters, Let our words be worthy, our paragraphs perfect. Let no bibliography go un-checked; let the spellcheck be just. As the night goes swiftly on, Let the coffee be bitter to better betray our beds. Let us not have heart palpitations. Let us not over-dose on caffeine. May our evidence be … More prayer for a paper
anna-christina betekhtin 