The Cut
Jamie Anastas
Look here my finger sliced to the bone. see the red drops coating the carrot bits before they are slurped up by the grain of the butcher block. I hold it up to the light to watch the blood trace my lifeline pooling for a moment in the little pocket of palm before trickling down the tender wrist and then more slowly following the length of forearm before beginning to collect in the crook of my elbow. I feel the flesh throb on either side of the clean, straight cut and I am glad to be alive and in this kitchen holding this good knife that has opened this doorway however small.
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