Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Tuesday, May 6, 2014

The Poetry of a Knife

The glint cut
right to left and back
Again and again, flashing
like the silvery zig zag of minnows
underfoot in the ocean,
too quick to follow yet
too mesmerizing to look away

This is what she remembered:

Not pain
for that didn't come until after
but a strange admiration
for the man's deft precision
An artist touching the canvas of her face
with a brush stroke here, there
Filling in lines and shadows
that render a portrait recognizable
And yet

When she reached up to touch,
 nose, cheeks, mouth,
they were unfamiliar and
her hands, when she looked,
were covered in blood
like red paint, sticky and crimson.

submitted (late and w/apologies) for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Vignette


Fireblossom said...

Lord above. I'm glad it's not a true story.

Margaret said...

Well, a madness for sure. Chilling.

Marcoantonio Arellano (Nene) said...

this truly speaks of 'in the cutting edge'.

someone with a knife, do'th know how to wield

Kerry O'Connor said...

Your vignette combines the violence with a kind of surreal artistry. It is a most unique reading experience.

Helen said...

Oh my, the most vivid nightmare of cosmetic surgery gone wrong ... Quite the vignette!