Knife

The knife is a greeting--
It introduces itself with
Its silvery smile
Shining its sharpness.
This knife will part the skin
Seeking blood that opens
Like a flower upon the rock.

The knife is my menstrual cramp
When a spirit breathes within me
And aches to be born.
The precision of folded steel
Precipitates sacrificial flesh.

What have I to offer?
What have I to give
In recognition of my roots
Fruiting upon the land?
I trade blood for blessings:
Something to flow outward
Welcoming what flows inward.

Take not life in vain
But recognize this
Pain
As pangs of guilt
Subdued through washing steel
With life’s fabric.

This knife cuts closest
To the thin veil
Clothing skin
Over the eternal river.
It seeks the axis of symmetry
Binding past, present and future
Generations,
Bringing forth remembrance,
Sacrificial gratitude
And the liquid of time’s transmutation.