Blood Makes the Blade Holy
Mom
I’ll pay my brothers bail.
Mom, a grave cant stay freshly dug forever.
Mom, Poppy is asleep in front of the head-stone
again
Mom
I can’t sleep here.
Mom, the fish-head gape of his gut
like a mouth in awe is not a fear I can unlearn
Mom
He is breaking again
Mom
the knife is still here.
Mom, I’m here too
I hate every inch of me
this
me
Mom, ash spreads
Mom, ash spreads
The wind is an open sore. I’m all roots and burn
Mom, I’m burning Mom, I’m burning Mom, I’m burning
The house is a heavy memory-break
My teeth are full of hollow, barking laughter.
Mom
We forget and call it healing
Mom, we forgive everything but ourselves. But we laugh loudest don’t we,
Mom?
Mom
I am in love again
she makes me a forest fire.
Mom, I met a man twice my age once and never told you.
The pulse of his ring finger in my mouth made me a dead planet
which am I?
Mom
My brother is dying and I exist. I exist.
I am shouting at the empty and always running.
Mom
I took his hair in my fingers and said it would be ok
My tongue is still rattled in the taste of it.
Mom, there's a lie in my fire
but I’m still burning.
Mom
this house breathes like the neck of a swamp.
My teeth still feel like that knife. His blood is everywhere
still.
Bleach just makes it whiter.
Mom
he is learning to walk again and I can’t bring myself to watch.
Mom, I love you was never something we needed to say but he said it over and over again in the blinding white;
it’s not understood anymore mom. This ache is too familiar.
Mom I cant do it.
Mom I cant
Mom I cant
Mom I cant
Mom I cant Mom
The grave is growing over still.
by Evan Knoll
I’ll pay my brothers bail.
Mom, a grave cant stay freshly dug forever.
Mom, Poppy is asleep in front of the head-stone
again
Mom
I can’t sleep here.
Mom, the fish-head gape of his gut
like a mouth in awe is not a fear I can unlearn
Mom
He is breaking again
Mom
the knife is still here.
Mom, I’m here too
I hate every inch of me
this
me
Mom, ash spreads
Mom, ash spreads
The wind is an open sore. I’m all roots and burn
Mom, I’m burning Mom, I’m burning Mom, I’m burning
The house is a heavy memory-break
My teeth are full of hollow, barking laughter.
Mom
We forget and call it healing
Mom, we forgive everything but ourselves. But we laugh loudest don’t we,
Mom?
Mom
I am in love again
she makes me a forest fire.
Mom, I met a man twice my age once and never told you.
The pulse of his ring finger in my mouth made me a dead planet
which am I?
Mom
My brother is dying and I exist. I exist.
I am shouting at the empty and always running.
Mom
I took his hair in my fingers and said it would be ok
My tongue is still rattled in the taste of it.
Mom, there's a lie in my fire
but I’m still burning.
Mom
this house breathes like the neck of a swamp.
My teeth still feel like that knife. His blood is everywhere
still.
Bleach just makes it whiter.
Mom
he is learning to walk again and I can’t bring myself to watch.
Mom, I love you was never something we needed to say but he said it over and over again in the blinding white;
it’s not understood anymore mom. This ache is too familiar.
Mom I cant do it.
Mom I cant
Mom I cant
Mom I cant
Mom I cant Mom
The grave is growing over still.
by Evan Knoll
Evan Knoll is a poet from Middletown, Connecticut. He has taught workshops on performance and writing as catharsis for colleges, psychiatric hospitals and community service organizations around the tri-state area. He is the co-author of a chapbook titled My Body is an Apology, released through Big Nothing Press.
