Tag Archives: bleed

28th September 2013 – beetroots

Posted on September 29, 2013 by Liz Terry

Thick green leaves with red veins like arteries. A red stalk leading down to black, bulbous heads. Pulled from the earth and deposited here, they shed soil onto the cardboard beneath them. Inside dwells sweet red flesh, and juice which … Continue reading →

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9th February 2013 – beetroots

Posted on February 10, 2013 by Liz Terry

Scrubbed clean, boiled and peeled, yet they still bleed. Relentlessly, they mark the many lines that cross my palms. Beautiful and ugly all at once, these lines reveal the life that I have lived.

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