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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
