Cut

It wasn’t a man
That knocked me down
With the thrill of a slice
Of my will.

She was mannish,
Chilled, flung
Her will across
Mine then laughed

At my shock, when she
Gripped my neck while
Lingering over a request
For the evening meal.

Later I sliced a tomato
Close to my wrist.
The door was open.
She had warned me:

Never shut it against
Her. Otherwise
I was free to come
And go. Maybe she was

Right: I was zero
To the bone. Meanwhile,
I had left the hose
In the pond. The goldfish

Cowered in the reeds.
Whose side were they on?
I am ill, I thought,
Slogging across

Soggy green.
If I bow any lower
I will be looking up
At moss.

More Poems by Sina Queyras