Clue
C L u e Toffee with tooth marks, the petal of hibiscus that never blooms this far north, a scrap of toenail, those are my cousins. i’m the left-handed slash here on your kitchen door, the stroke that missed, before you sank the knife and caught your breath there at the sink, your blouse splattered with good riddance. Believe me, i’m not blowing any whistles. We’ve been acquainted only since last Friday, but i can feel some new air edging in around your bed, your kitchen table. The cabin settles into sumac and the dog sleeps. another clue might roll its eyes or lean a little toward the camera. not me. i’m just a slash in old paint. if homicide shows up, i’ll drape a spider web across my loin. But i’ll be here, the child of rage, your child. Touch my deep diagonal, leftover lightning. Follow my falling line into the larger dark. even the bitterest rain can sink into sand, collect in the crevasses of rock, and lose itself in the river’s lurch and surge and pause. ...
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