Katrina Kaye

The knives she gave me
are perfect for slicing
strawberries at 10:24 pm
on a Thursday.

Almost too easy,
the way the fruit falls apart.

I miss her then.
Miss her sweetness
on tart tongue,
miss the way she told me
of true love
over and over by
counting my vertebrae
on slick fingers,
ticking off time.

There are too many knives
left behind.

More than half still wrapped
in cardboard and plastic,
held together with thin rubber bands.

The others stained with the juice
of fruit already sliced.

“Knives” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).