by David Castillo
As I stood there in the kitchen
holding my favorite slicing knife
in my right hand she asked me,
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m showing you what a metaphor looks like.”
I pressed my left arm down
against the cutting board
with my palm up
as I raised the knife high in the air.
“This is honesty.” I told her,
before bringing the knife down
and rushing the blade through my flesh,
between the bones,
and down into the bit of wood beneath it.