Olives us
|
DIstance
|
We carry ourselves like olive trees.
Leaves on thoughts, words of flowers that bloom and give and bloom and give evergreen, archaic, invasive. Until the fruit reeks of neglect, resentful, fills our tongue with rot then, when the rest of the world blossoms, we chop ourselves down. We choose soaked sweet branches to plant inside us. We relearn to water our senses, to be aware of the blackbirds, to tame our wild sprouts only if we wish to. We carry ourselves like olive trees. We face our stormed blue seas and dive in our marrow to grow afresh. |
Split hearts, tattooed with petals
tied together in gossamer, stretch towards the sun. A journey of mornings stolen in breaths hums through their veins. In a parallel universe, here, then, they have inhaled each other. |
Eva Papasoulioti is a writer of speculative fiction and poetry. She lives in Athens, Greece, and translates words for a living. This is her first publication. You can find her on twitter @epapasoulioti and on her blog.