Knife

the carrots' bad bit fall
from the knife's right
into the compost bowl

bright orange discs
like timelapses of a dancing sun
pile higher in the stew pot

I'd almost forgotten
where I'd crouched once
no supper planned
the gone-off radiator
hard at my back
no colder than hope
counting the wallpaper's roses
all the same, blue, ungrowing
cut at the stem and floating
flat as the days
they pounced out
inevitable as the stab notes
in Psycho
the knife handle's
scratched black plastic
my only grip on reality
my fingers curved round a shape
designed for all humanity

When you held me there
all touch full of your warm curves
ears full of your amorous murmers
safe in your arms' armour see
the roses sharp as memory's shrapnel

but now this bomb lands out of range
for, the feel of your shoulder blades
under my hands
cuts the past away

Let's eat
Love