Apathy

I see the preoccupied space before me. I / close my eyes. I / move my fingertips on the cold surface. I / find the razor blade. I / hide it inside my palm. I / smile to the colleague next to me. I / exit the office. I / look at the closing door behind me. I / turn to the left. I / pass by the lockers. I / see my name printed on plastic. My name / in a vast sea of names. I / do my best to ignore me. I / enter the ladies room. I / am alone. I / see my face on the mirror. I / see my face. My lips / an open parenthesis. My eyes / two watery spheres. I / see my browns and my whites and my greys. I / see a wondering mass, an empty sack, a basket full of raisins, an old fig tree, a dry river, a barefoot child, a caterpillar on the burning asphalt, a headless snake, an abandoned snake nest, a broken branch, a moldy piece of bread, a locked room, the dark stairs, the wet corners of the grocery store, a pack of flour full of worms. I / lift my skirt. I / expose my skin. I / cut my inner thigh. I / see the blood running between my legs. The / malignant cyst is open. The / intoxicating pus gradually evaporates. I / watch the bad blood reaching the sandy tiles on the floor. I / know it’s bad because it´s black and it’s dense and it smells like sandalwood mixed with lemon grass. I / redirect my focus. I / breathe.

***

Wildfire

There were two little sisters, twins
Five days have passed and
Now they are not.

People stitched angel wings
On the back of their tiny shoulders
To celebrate their celestial purity
And they took the twins away
There, where the view is good.

Mother, stop searching for them
Stop digging your fingers in
The black desolation.
Now, you are the one
Who is lost.

Crawl deep into the bottomless
Wells of your existence and
Stay there for nine days and
Nine nights until the sun is
Drained from your veins and
When you will ascend, you will be
No Mother, no more.

What is the path ahead for you
Apart from pain, I cannot tell
Unless you strip the motherhood
Away from your skin and
Have a new skin to cover the
Empty hole inside your belly

I cannot find a single word to
Say or to write, Mother
To end this.

***

Elena Savva Kotsile (the pen name of Elena Kotsiliti) is a writer based in Munich. Apart from scientific papers, she has managed to publish a few words back home in Greece and in the journal Anti-Heroin Chic. She is trying to finish her PhD in cancer biology (which is a tough business), and on Saturday nights she focuses on her typewriter to deal with her issues (of which there are plenty). You can follow her on her blog (elenakotsilewriter.wordpress.com), on Twitter (@Elena_Beate), and on Instagram (www.instagram.com/elena_kotsile/).