Broken Pathways

Contest entry for Slovenian arts magazine Novi zvon.

She was beautiful then
and tasted of nuts and black coffee

her neck draped in auburn
curls on her shoulder

She smelled like fresh paper
cinnamon sticks
sometimes an autumn potage
with red pulses

She felt brown and still
or rapid with shivers
her skin like a river

solid, yet not

She sang with an accent
to soften the deepest

most devious paths
of the heart

She was beautiful then

a child, a martyr
a memory now
and faceless