fear again

When you hear the voice it does not stop and nor can you, frail droning weakens in the wind, quick turn behind you. Pace endlessly, then end. There is nothing left to do. Look up in horror as the airplanes fly too close. Is this, again, again, how it all stops? … © 2018 Anna-Christina … More fear again

baby bird

Fallen from the nest before the flight feathers, fragile feet rigor mortis, crushed and curled. The fetid urine of a dog in heat, hot plastic, leather, tawdry chafe. The seam of the sidewalk holds the body, soft wet wings unfurled. … © 2018 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.


I am not a brave one, not a lion nor a lamb; legs too weak to stand, crawl close. You are not of man. Let your mother wean you, let her lick your forehead clean. I am a child of the glen, there is no fear too keen. Your gentle growl, a humming, let the … More coward

blood & oak

If my heart has hardened, there is no one else to blame. I have never been a woman unaccustomed to the shame and bitter rebuke of who loved me, every bitter word a hound that tore flesh from my bone and did not pause to heed the sound of other hunters heeling, watch and wait; … More blood & oak

mine love

My heart has hardened in the years since; if I am diamond now what was is mist, coal dust scuttled in the mine too deep, wet walls and heat condensed, the fog of sleep beneath the stones of weeping; where do men toil? In the earth, to find the things they think of worth. … … More mine love

silver song of toil

I was never brilliant, I was never bold; anything I ever touched has never turned to gold. Quiet toil daily, seed the soil old; silver is the next best thing for dull and shy, base souls. … © 2018 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.

bug love

If not the bumblebee, the fly. If not the cricket, a close-kept thigh. If not the beetle, then the flea. If not the moth, an open knee. If not the gasp, a sigh. A table small and nothing shy. … © 2018 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All Rights Reserved.


If this is not an ambush, why am I so afeared; who is it that behind me murmurs threats so sweet, so dear. I glory not in gore or pain, there is nothing I adore. But if this is to end in terror true, let me have it more. … © 2018 Anna-Christina Betekhtin, All … More surprise

gold & grapes

Give me something golden, something I can hold; if I was King Midas, I would not be so bold as to burn each touch with molten metal, curse my daughter, purge the earth of water, wine, good grapes that burst. Say I, with ore clutched close: I will tend the forge, close braid and curl … More gold & grapes