brief encounter

The folded blade craved my flesh.

No one knew my slender shrieks.

I bolted, mad, to the evening heat,

and hid in the blue of the juniper bush,

hushed the tears, so he wouldn’t hear.

He took my waist, tucked me hard

between his legs, rendered a finger

from my fist, held me fast around the wrist.

My skin opened, but did not bleed,

and spit the splinter like a melon seed.

willow, 2010

I'll never forget screaming as my grandfather chased me with his pocket knife, and how it didn't hurt when he pressed the open blade flat against my finger.

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