the final temptress

October 3, 2019

I am the one who fears nothing and from whom no one abstains. I am the final temptress. I am beautiful as death. I am waiting for a certain man with a red knife.

Émile Verhaeren
The Lady in Black

Love

July 18, 2019

You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love.”

Franz Kafka
Letters to Milena

a man slaughters a goat

March 28, 2019

In my earliest memory, a man slaughters a goat in my bathroom. In Rabat, I am nameless, another Moroccan girl to be looked at but not seen. When goats cry, it sounds just like a baby. I couldn’t list all the terrible things we do to one another.  I remember the goat kicking out, frantic. The shattered mirror. The stumbled prayer. I was sick every visit: my stomach heaving dirty water. I would cry and everyone else would tsk, murmur American. Once, I kissed someone and I’m afraid it ruined the world. I’ve learned that it’s not what you do with the knife — it’s how you hold it after. But how do you hold something like that? Something that never stops baring its teeth; a voiceless dog, all bite, no bark. I remember very clearly that I never saw any blood. Honestly, I wouldn’t even know what to do with a knife. I didn’t even know what to do with that mouth.

Yasmin Belkhyr
Surah Al-Fatiha,
Bonelight

• Never turn around to check behind you. You’ll see nothing, but once you start doing it you won’t be able to stop, and an ominous feeling will follow you until you don’t lock your house’s door behind you.
• If you stand very still and listen you will hear the woods calling for you. Don’t answer. Never answer.
• You’ll hear things quietly following you, hidden in the trees by your sides. It’s okay, they’re just checking on you.
• Don’t be scared, but be really, really wary.
• If you have a bad feeling about taking a certain path, don’t. You’ll avoid whatever is waiting for you at the end of it.
• You never know what may be buried under the soil you’re walking on. Remember that every time you take a step. Pray that whatever it is, it won’t wake up.
• Be careful not to step on any beetle, or you’ll never get rid of them.
• If you bring a knife with you, name it. Otherwise the blade will turn against you as soon as you try to use it.
• Make sure you remember the way back home. As soon as you get lost, you’re just another piece of fresh meat.

Michelangelo
Almost Blue

First Love

December 28, 2017

In the dreary Girona of my seven-year-old self,
where postwar shop-windows
wore the greyish hue of scarcity,
the knife-shop was a glitter
of light in small steel mirrors.
Pressing my forehead against the glass,
I gazed at a long, slender clasp-knife,
beautiful as a marble statue.
Since no one at home approved of weapons,
I bought it secretly, and, as I walked along,
I felt the heavy weight of it, inside my pocket.
From time to time I would open it slowly,
and the blade would spring out, slim and straight,
with the convent chill that a weapon has.
Hushed presence of danger:
I hid it, the first thirty years,
behind books of poetry and, later,
inside a drawer, in amongst your knickers
and amongst your stockings.
Now, almost fifty-four,
I look at it again, lying open in my palm,
just as dangerous as when I was a child.
Sensual, cold. Nearer my neck.

Joan Margarit

the-bloody-judge-aka-night-of-the-blood-monster-1970

You don’t think I could bring myself to mark your lovely skin? I’ll take my knife to you, if that’s the case. I’ll carve my name in your breast so that every beat of your heart will remind you that you are mine — and mine alone. Because blood is binding, and because I would rather see you destroyed than see you free or in the possession of another, so I suggest you not try me, or you will suffer as no earthly creature has.” He slammed her back against the wall. “Or ever will. But that is a suggestion, and one you are free to disregard at your own peril. But you are are going to answer my question.”

Nenia Campbell
Terrorscape

Dangerous Moonlight…?

June 24, 2015

castration

Black, black…

May 11, 2015

knifeinback

Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack, all dressed in black, black, black. She has a knife, knife, knife, stuck in her back, back, back. She cannot breathe, breathe, breathe. She cannot cry, cry, cry. Thats why she begs, begs, begs. She begs to die, die ,die..”

Laurie Faria Stolarz
White Is for Magic

rib

Suicide….

February 10, 2015

Hands

He took an opaque off-white
oval of soap in one hand,
a knife in the other,
and he carved a sculpture
of a little man holding
in one hand a bar of soap,
an opaque, off-white oval,
a knife in the other.

The little man thought
about carving a sculpture out
of the soap, but the challenge
seemed too daunting.

Still he was too bored
to do nothing at all.
so he slit his wrist.