Sharp Swords
身から出た錆
I’m inventing a hundred ways to stab you.
Thrusting into your chest
Beautiful, gem-crusted, handles of
twin knives, or
gilded daggers found in the
medieval markets where we once pilfered them,
sleight-handed and quick-footed before
merchants could catch us
Maybe I could fell you with a falchion and
watch you crumple with just one slash, but
you, conniving you,
Took that broad blade when
you left me to go into hiding
I still have your lance, by the way,
the stolen one left by the wayside
of the riverbank that we used to bathe in
I’ve considered using that to maim you,
But the blade is too long
And distance is the last thing I want
When I carve your heart out in a
red, sopping mess from that cavity I once
wanted to be stowed away in,
Too smitten with your mercurial nature,
Too taken in to pay much heed to that
malicious underbelly of yours
I should’ve taken an axe to you a long time ago
To the soft parts you showed me,
fleshy and warm and exposed in such a way
that I must’ve hallucinated them after you left,
Makeshift a shiv of glass or rock to
pierce brutally into you
Watch all your squishy intestines tumble
out of that gash and realize
how animal you are
how you’re just like me now
because your insides match mine
that are spewed on the ground, gushing out
from where you left me
Until then, though,
I will forge and plunder and spend
the rest of my scampering existence
crafting towards your end
you, cowardly you.
Parisian-born in another life, Jessalin Lee tries to draw out the beauty of Earth through art and writing. An undergraduate at the University of Chicago, she’ll be graduating with a degree in Environmental Science and French & Francophone Studies. Her work will also be found in the University of Chicago’s literary magazine Sliced Bread as well as Lebanon Valley College’s The Green Blotter. When she’s not serially diary writing, you can find her crocheting at her home in Houston and trying new vegan recipes.
The Albion Review 