Vasiliki Albedo Bennu





You say you don’t remember
the time you slashed
your razor-palm across my cheeks.

When I fell to meet your shoe,
a flint of rage stabbed my gut again.
I remember well.

My friend from school was there.
When you were done she hurried home,
I crammed coins and clothes into my bag and left.

Two streets down you found me, rolled up
in your car with daisies from the garden.
I couldn’t leave. You are forever

folded within. Sending me flowers
with the right hand, while your left
is over my mouth.

Nights, when I have no defense
you jolt into my dreams to plough
your little plot within my heart.




Vasiliki Albedo Bennu has recently moved to Greece and works with renewable energy development. In her spare time she writes poetry, trains in martial arts and practices pouncing and stretching with her cat Bruce Lee. She has had poems published In The South Bank Poetry Magazine, the Ofi Press Magazine and Belleville Park Pages.

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