r i g h t  h a n d  p o i n t i n g

 short poetry  short fiction   short...uh..art
 

 

     
  Taylor Graham

Knives

 

 
Scent clings to the sharp edges.
Do the long blades plunged
into a beveled block
still remember marbled muscle?

She wipes the counter spotless,
Formica with a cleanser spray.
A sponge. The blood-sacrifice
of elsewhere.


 

 

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