An Unexpected Scene

There was blood on the cutting board---

when I returned,

and quarters of the peach had bloomed sanguine spots

as if it had acquired measles;

thus it remains uneaten.

 

What a strange scene to return to---

blood crusting the blade

laid next to the sick peach.

It could be mistaken for rust

an hour or two later. He even left the T.V. on

in his haste---

disarray upon disarray, vexing and perplexing.

 

I will never use his technique to slice a peach:

holding its fullness with one hand,

wielding the knife with the other,

sinking the blade into my palm,

following its curvature,

and leaving this mess for someone else

to clean and ponder.

Reviews

[Haden]

you forget what it's like when a writer happens upon a scene. some ppl just clean it up. but the writer will always write it first and clean it up later. the fullness, the curvature, the rust. your words make a beautiful portrait of something that other ppl wud just put away. i will keep my eyes open today after reading this.

[Camawin]

I had to review this because sanguine is my favorite word and the image of the peach was better than anything I have read recently.
I also think sylvia plath wrote a poem quite similiar to this though she was cutting onions I believe.