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written by: Azelyn Klein



she’s the reminder that I need fresh air—
kiss of sharp needles, stabbing my feet as
they plunge in this icy green lakeside shore from
liquefied glaciers where old trunks sank and
stick up like a cross-stitch quilt; when you ask
me to listen, rest my head atop your
chest, please don’t ask me to relax, for still I
feel the avalanche, lifeblood of this sphere with its
veins of ash and fire pulsing to drumbeats
in the deep; she first stole my breath like a
pickpocket, making me double-check my
back. I can’t grasp hold of fear when it is
keeping me alive. this earth is my home—
my heart core in that cavern you call my
chest—I’ll hold my breath, dreading the next earth-
quake, because it’s more than shivers running up
my backside, making my hair stand on end;
it’s a reminder that this, my wild heart,
is only one organ in our world of
orchestras, setting the march with drums now

Azelyn Klein

Azelyn Klein

Azelyn Klein is an army brat and book blogger who enjoys exploring castles, scavenging libraries, and sporadic gardening. She devours books during the day and makes up stories in the wee hours of the morning. She writes poetry as a means of expression and response to the world around her. When she’s not curled up with a good book, she can be found wandering around the great outdoors or drinking one too many cappuccinos.
Azelyn Klein

Latest posts by Azelyn Klein (see all)

Read previous post:
Después De Las Diez by José A Gómez at Spillwords.com
Después De Las Diez

Después De Las Diez  a short story written by: José A Gómez   Que gran injusticia, que desfachatez, absurda fue...