Self-Portrait with Knife


Self-Portrait with Knife

Lacking benefit of prayer or belief,
it slips through flesh,

praising its temerity. Or,
parting the onion’s core, reclaims
the right to weep.

How many nights have we shared
these pleasures? I smooth the blade

with steel, listening to the fine hum.


39 thoughts on “Self-Portrait with Knife

    • Oh, yes, sharp knives, proper tools, make all the difference. But they have their dangers, too – I sliced off a bit of my thumb, and a year later part of my index finger. I have since decided to remove speed from the cooking equation.

      Liked by 4 people

  1. Great piece. (haha, pun intended) I know this all too well. Unfortunately, removing speed is not always an option for me.

    You’d love what I did to myself last week, fifteen minutes before our brunch began…..stupid, stupid, stupid….you’d think I’d learn….no stitches….but a little super-glue came in handy…

    Liked by 1 person

  2. ‘…reclaiming pain..’ I really loved how you weaved in human emotions with the act of slicing. But my tendency is to see everything as a metaphor – so I have a question for you: Was this poem metaphorical for life, the cutting edge of a knife akin to the pain of life? Or is this me reading too much into it? 🙂 Either which ways, I loved it!

    Liked by 1 person

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