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Knife Angel A mouthpiece, head inclined, hands open in amnesty, my wings rise, a golden halo framing a feathered loss. 100,000 used knives, blunted, crime-washed clean inscribed with lives taken, breath exhumed on blades the coloured handles, a sparkle of sequins dancing on the mundane rage of kitchen drama the trimming, skimming paring of skin from bone words caught in walls like a flutter of despair. I see the alley-gangs, slithers of silver in pockets, anger edgy, serrated even vengeful in killing, I hear the lost souls, dislocated in urban silence screaming for a voice, machete whittling at limbs. I am the messenger, a sorrowful magpie collector of cleaver, scalpel, dagger, your pain and mine welded. Why melt me down or fillet the truth? Read the blades and learn. Kate Young Kate Young lives in Kent with her husband and has been passionate about poetry and literature since childhood. Over the last few years she has returned to writing and has had success with poems published in webzines in Britain and internationally. She is a regular reader of Ekphrastic Review and her work has appeared in response to some of the challenges. Kate is now busy editing her work and setting up her website. Find her on Twitter at @kateyoung12poet.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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January 2022
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