A GIFT OF KNIVES

Igor Meinikov

This poem is from a forthcoming book: THE NIGHT MARKET

 A GIFT OF KNIVES

A gift of knives.  A gift of blindness.

The smell of blood.  The taste of blood

Inside the mouth.  The way the lights

Of the railroad station look as if

They had something more than an electric

Glow to them.  Someone is crying.

I make a call on my phone to see who

It might be, but no answer came.

The fire in the pampas began just as the day

Began to lose its way, backing up to allow night.

The animals came ahead of the fire,

Until there was a stampede of shadows

Backlit by the greatest of flames.

I stepped from the landing boat, looking

Toward the town.  There were lights

In the bars and the houses showed a

Yellow-gold glow through their shades.

It made the entire street pulse.

I knew the reason we were here.

The fire on the pampas could be seen

On the far horizon.  Soon the animals

Would be here.  There was only the town

Between them and the sea.

I felt for my knife.  This would

Be all that I needed.  I would be gone

Before any fire could reach this place.

There was no waiting.

I ran down the side of the road

And began making a list.

The last thing I noticed before

The whole thing began was the sound

The ship’s bell made.  I turned 

To look at the ship.

It was beautiful.

I thought it was a candle.

The gift of knives.