Poetry

I plunge my hands deep

fingers spread wide

and the water slides through

every patch and speck of skin.

The chill nests in the lines

of my palms

writing my life

to creep up and around

until my fingers grow numb

and my breath stills.

I lean forward to

skies of cornflower blue

melting in the surface

as the water jumps over stones and

branches

taking my reflection down the stream

my face in the water-

no longer the same.

Evgeniya Dineva