Throwing Knives

We threw knives at the old dead pine

he’d marked off a distance with a toe

in the rust of the rich dirt

he said, it’s two and a half rotations

and sank two into the trunk

thunk, thunk

he said, it’s in the wrist, and in your fingers

he said, you have to give it that final twist

thunk, thunk

he said, you gotta put your hips into it

rotate with the motion

he said, you gotta reach out,

like you’re trying to brush the tree gently

thunk, thunk

we’d been drinking screwdrivers

out of a water bottle but

that long tall Texan just kept sinking them

thunk, thunk

he handed them to me, long blades

longer than my hand and sharpened on both sides

he said, you’re drunk, and laughed

he said, no way you’re gonna hit that tree

but I knew with the cold steel pinched

between the pad of my thumb

and the second knuckle of my forefinger

I had a pretty good shot

even contending with the vodka

throwing knives is like anything else

first you have intention,

and then you have action

you just see it through straight to the end

until you bury it to the hilt

into the wood like a lover

I pulled back and threw with everything I had.