for Jude who died on an evening
golden light from the windowsill dances on the knife
placed just so/ its tips can touch a life without taking it
the August wind lightens the air, but there is a stench/
death walks the corridors of the kitchen, and my hands
tired of cutting life into the chicken slip to my sides
a prelude to the death that takes/ the day you don’t expect
i imagine you gulped down the bottle to end the pain
an ache passed down like a curse no one wanted to inherit
worn down by the ache, you needed to end it/
you, the courage that walks the room, struts
from kitchen to room to kitchen, flirting with the knife
giving a life/
and taking it back,
until the August wind rises
blows the knife off the sill and into you,
sinking its tip where the light strikes your life
where it ends with an empty bottle,
and a groan, never to be heard again
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Before You Believe
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Poetry (c) Rachael Aiyke
Image: A remix