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 |  A poetry journal of everyday clippings |
| It seems to have been a while since, trusting my act in the kitchen, I touched the knife on the wrong edge, sliding my thumb. The shock of blood, rediscovered so red when fresh, spun out of the mind--with the pain and humiliation--other things that bled, while I blinked to wave off carelessness, but the pattern of the warm liquid zigzagged to fill my perverse temper with the recall of sharp-edged words that cut like cutlery when he said I was full of shit and I should watch out, as he cast off my human skin and made me bleed to a peculiar numbness. Now, I hold my thumb to the light and think, after the ointment, my blood will clot again. Prompt: Write a poem about rediscovering something |
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