CUTTING
Louise Annarino
4-23-2013
The bucket of water
weighs down
my arm below the knee,
its handle biting my palm
in small,grasping bites
too numerous to count
until my hand,
this hand meant to
pull weeds and cut flowers
is grazed and bloody,
too swollen to hold scissors
or trace the lines of your face
and carry them to my cheek.
The only cutting today
is of self.
annarino writes 