The Spoon
A spoon sits in the warmth of my palm
Its incandescent sheen flitting through the darkness
Edges ribbed and sharp like a knife
My finger traces the speck of each point
The electricity of “almost” buzzing through the junctions of empty
And as my fingers gingerly trace the beauty of danger
I bleed
A red cherry drops from the tree
Gushing, blooming, alive.
More fall, one bigger than the other
Dropping silently into the basket I placed so many years ago
My breath falls as storm clouds darken
The trees shake and moan as Atlas drops the weight upon them
And lightning finally breaks
Bouncing through each nerve in my brain
Setting myself on fire.
I stand holding this weapon
This spoon of many talents
Talents like drawing fruit from midair
From drawing lightning from storm clouds.
With two hands I plunge it into my chest
Carving, scrubbing, sobbing
Until all that bleeds in my hands are you
The memories of you
The happiness of you.
All that bleeds are the broken dam of lust
The red dripped glaze of dark eyes and hooded hearts
I have carved out the piece of me that was you
And I bleed free.
Copyright © Alice Yu | Year Posted 2021
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