Tread softly on the body as for those who open their eyes, each dawn is a little dying. The woman sleeping beside you knows. Hands are never gentler than at sunrise, when mist-song spirals from the river, and light shifts so carefully you aren’t even sure it’s moving. The flickering sound of a name caught between sleeping and waking, a flame lit by longing. All those who are living know. The body is at its tenderest when, for a moment, it dwells in something bigger than itself.
Elodie Barnes is a poet, reviewer, fiction writer, and essayist who can be found writing in France, Spain or the UK (usually mixing up her languages). Her flash fiction has been nominated for Best of the Net, and she is guest editor of the Life in Languages series at Lucy Writers’ Platform. Find her online at http://elodierosebarnes.weebly.com and on Twitter @BarnesElodie.