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 replied.
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.

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