Knife of the Night

My daughter challenged me about a perception I held regarding uncomfortable past events. I forcefully defended my position against hers, until, days later, in the dead of night, the struggle to justify myself surfaced.

I scribbled down several lines of this poem and went back to sleep…busted.


Knife of the Night

It cuts deep below the what

Into the marrow of why

Exposing raw flesh

To the biting air of knowledge


Abruptly brought to my knees

By that mirror of sharpened

Steel bending the night

For the pain I blamed upon others


Sometimes I need poetry. The cadence, the rhythm, the rhyme, the imagery, the brevity, I don’t know. But it has a powerful tug (somewhere deep inside my chest) on truth.


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