Tumbleweed, given and received.


by Lorelei Bacht


 

I give you this: a familiarity with fear,
the never quite knowing of when
you will be devoured, or not.

I give you this: the certainty that all
animals die alone, and the knowing
that the only way out of harm

is right through its eyehole.

I give you this: an ear for our silence
and a talent for thread, so that you may
string our unsaid into meaning.

I give you this: a layered frozen ground
of memories, a treasure trove for you
to sink your teeth in, and break them –

you know from dreams
that your teeth need breaking.

I give you this: a file to file your teeth
into kisses. The dirt that we give you,
you will turn into tumbleweed,

And roll with it.

 


 

Lorelei Bacht is a European poet living in Asia with her family, which includes two young children and a lot of chaos. Her current work is primarily concerned with motherhood, marriage, and aging as a woman. This year, her work has appeared or is forthcoming in such publications as OpenDoor Poetry Magazine, Litehouse, Visitant, Quail Bell, Odd Magazine and The Wondrous Real. She can be found on instagram:  @lorelei.bacht.writer

 


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