Knife

I'm not really sure who she was trying to threaten, me or her or maybe both, 
	though it was implied
either way that it was my fault if it happened, my fault that it went so far 
that the dull metal blade was trembling and her face was pink and miserable 
	and hurt
Were her eyes that dark because they'd gone cold? Or smoldering? I couldn't 
	tell -
she'd called an hour or two after the fight, because I wouldn't call first 
	like always 
and she said I could have her guitar so I ran sprinted actually the two miles 
	from the lab 
and into the bedroom and there was the knife - it hummed it seemed to hum 
	like a guitar 
string it was this alive thing that wanted to strike us down to strike us 
	all down
 


josh buermann © 1999