Knife's Price

Time encased in a
whimper,
vultures circling
the sun-clipped blue.
A mass of bone and blood
on slippery rocks waits
for death.


Life trickling
down the slope
to hungry birds,
my new knife
seeking the stain,
extorting pain.


Fervid screams floating
back to me,
anxious beaks
cutting at flesh.
My laugh drowns the sound,
as I relish the music.


~Lorna Marie Larson