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.